I Am Jack's Broken Heart
by Kyonomiko
Summary: Draco returns to Hogwarts for his final year, unknown to nearly everyone. Through a magical mishap, Hermione Granger discovers his secret. She just gets the secret really wrong. Dramione EWE. Dramione Fanfiction Awards Spring 2017 and Granger Enchanted Awards 2017 Finalist
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I'm afraid I've yet to acquire any ownership of the Potterverse. I did buy a new car this year so... there's that.**

It was Ron's fault really, Harry would tell you.

Whatever happened to result in a cauldron of bubbling potion to be spilled all over, not only The Boy With Nine Lives and his friend, but also half of the potions room, Harry was _positive_ it had nothing to do with him.

Regardless of it being, in his opinion, completely not his fault, he knew he was in for it when he noticed the cauldron the Professor was using also teetered and the usually stoic man was forced to grab the thing to steady it, his black eyes narrowing in on Harry.

Ron of course, had a different perspective. But then, Ronald Weasley always did have a varying point of view from a lot of people.

He thought stealing his father's flying car was a brilliant plan, far less risky than being a little tardy, for instance.

He thought following Harry into the great unknown, tent camping alone with only two other wilderness amateurs with very little food and in the middle of a war, was smart for a teenage boy.

He had decided wondering away from those friends, in the middle of the Forest of Dean, because he was in a snit, seemed like a reasonable response.

And he thought Hermione Granger was a pretty girl before anyone else really did.

Some of his opinions, like the last, catch on eventually. Regardless of the popularity of his opinions, he was sure the spill had been caused by Harry who should have noticed Ron was moving away from the table at the same time Harry decided to return to the stores for more doxie wing. He gulps when he noticed Snape's eyes turn to him.

Unfortunately for them both, Severus Snape does not know nor particularly care what had caused the accident. All he knows is that his two least favourite students are standing in the middle of it when the, both proverbial and literal, smoke clears.

Regardless of his loyalties or his lost love, Snape still has sincere difficulty stomaching the cocky offspring of James Potter and his red-headed side kick with his terrible table manners and face that just _begs_ to be punched. Sometimes, in the years before and during the war, being a spy had been hard. There were days he had to pretend he didn't care about the fate of muggleborns or the evil wrought by the Dark Lord. There were moments he wretched, remembering Charity's face while a snake ate her whole. But then there were days he was able to take ridiculous house points from this bumbling pair in the name of keeping pretenses. Sometimes he longed for those days. Sometimes, no pretense is required.

"You two... _incompetent_... if you do not clear yourself from my sight in _twenty seconds_ I will make my punishment so swift and sure you will regret you were not born a squib. I reserve my right to inflict more punishment at a later date but for now one hundred points each from your house and DID YOU NOT HEAR ME WHEN I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE?!"

Harry and Ron scramble to grab their books and race out the door, widely side stepping a nearly vibrating Professor Snape, snaking around the table holding the cauldron with his own pet project.

No one was particularly sure why Snape also brewed in his class but it seemed he always had something in process and, by his reaction, it must be incredibly important.

No one notices the slick black hair drift from Harry's shoulder into the brew as he slides around it in his bid to flee the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Later, Snape will carry the brew, portioned into single dose serving vials, to the private rooms of a young man on the fourth floor, just off the south wing.

"I was almost concerned. This was my last dose you know."

Severus gives him a withering look. "When have I ever been less than prompt in my duties? To _anyone_?"

The boy shrugs at him, dark hair flopping across his brow, and says 'thank you' as he closes the door. Across his room, he places the glass containers in a careful row on his desk. Seven vials for seven days. He read a poem once, about measuring your life in coffee spoons. Looking at each single serving, he understands what that means. Each week until this year ends, lined up like soldiers.

Draco Malfoy mock salutes his desk and then falls into bed, grateful for another day finished without anyone knowing who he is or berating him for what he's done.

 **A/N**

 **Hello again! Welcome to a new multi-chapter. This one is post-war and has no evil wizards; no Dark Arts. Just a little teenage melodrama with some magic to make it interesting. This one is all romance, ladies and gentlemen.**

 **The poetic reference about coffee spoons is from T.S. Eliot and is one of my favorite poems of all time. Do you know it? I referenced that same poem as the title to my last one shot featuring Mr. Filch as a heartbroken little boy.**

 **This story title is a nod to Fight Club for any fellow Palahniuk fans out there. I am Kyonomiko's Fangirling Squeal.**

 **As always, nothing makes my heart sing like faves, follows, and reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

Draco wakes slowly the following morning, luxuriating in the privacy of his room and the comfort of his own skin.

He wasn't sure he wanted to return to Hogwarts. However the prospect, while offered as an option, felt very much a contingency of his freedom.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newly minted Minister of Magic, was trying probably more than Draco deserved to allow the young man his redemption. His mother had been nearly given a pass for any transgressions during the war. Her one small act, the selfish love of a mother trying only to protect her son, had translated into a second chance for Harry Potter and turned her into a hero of sorts. She didn't argue the verdict and thanked the Minister and Potter for their generosity. In private, she thinks the Minister is a bit of a brute and a lot of a fool but would never voice such.

Lucius had faired not as well as his wife. Because he carried the mark and had done so with full knowledge and from the vantage of adulthood, he had been placed under an incredibly stringent house arrest. No wand, no potions, no incantations. For a decade. During which he and his son will be expected to be monetarily generous with the Malfoy fortune for the betterment of wizarding society. After that time, Lucius can appeal for the privilege of his wand, but with no guarantee.

For Draco, it was Hogwarts or the very real possibility to suffer a fate much like his father's. Instead, he has been allowed to return to the school.

For his own protection, he is no longer "Draco". Sorted in to Slytherin as a formality, he is masquerading as a transfer student named "Jack". As much for his safety as anything, though also for the comfort of his classmates, most involved agreed he would have a very difficult time returning to the school where he would be labeled an attempted murderer, amongst other things. He can't even deny the truth of that.

His height and build they left virtually intact. He understands the supply of hair for his polyjuice comes from a muggle in Bulgaria. His hair is a deep brunette. Nothing special. He's not fond of the cut. He misses the blonde of his own locks and the pallor of his own skin.

Every morning he wakes as himself and spends many minutes just looking in the mirror, memorizing his own face. He almost forgets who he is each day. "Jack" is a loner and not well-accepted by the rest of Slytherin. The house loyalty for which they've always been known seems to have waned in the aftermath of war, self-preservation eclipsing any other trait.

Draco has seen the results of questionable loyalties in the fate of Pansy Parkinson. His old friend didn't even return for her final year, choosing instead to study under private tutors rather than the face the realities of Hogwarts. She is cheered by the loyalists, whispering in dark corners their conspiracies and desires. They believe Voldemort still lives. They wish for a new Dark Lord. They put Pansy on a pedestal because she was the only one "brave" enough to stand against Potter. But then she likewise faces the ire and jeers of the rest of the students. From the Slytherins that are doing their best to fit into the new world order all the way to the Hufflepuffs, no one else has use for Pansy Parkinson. The truth was, Draco knew, she was a scared little girl being locked in a dungeon at a school, a madman waiting outside to Avada them all if he didn't get what he wanted. She just wanted it to be over. She wanted to go home and crawl in her mother's lap and be shushed and petted and told everything would work out in the end. For her, for a Slytherin backed in a corner, her reaction to give up Potter was almost brave, almost Gryffindor in quality.

Draco is thankful sometimes that she isn't here. He's not sure if she could see through the disguise he wears but she has known him since they were in nappies, toddling around the Malfoy gardens while Narcissa and Posey Parkinson gossiped and planned their futures for them. If anyone could pick him out of a crowd without the benefit of his white blonde hair and piercing silver eyes, it would be that witch.

He pulls himself out of bed and trudges to the private bath. Under the pretense of the Slytherin dungeons being rather full, some of the rooms having been damaged in the final battle, he was allowed a private room. It certainly has not endeared him to the rest of his house to be given such a privilege, but regardless he is grateful for it.

He stands like he does every morning, studying himself intently. He is looking for the Draco that he thought he was; also searching for a new Draco he wants to be. Maybe, when it's over, he can just be Jack. Somewhere in another wizarding community where he doesn't have to be anything but who he is. Draco is a young man with some bad memories, a little fear, a bag full of regrets, and only the smallest amount of hope. He could be that anywhere, with any face. He wouldn't have to be so different than anyone else with that recipe of personality.

Swiping his hand through his hair, he takes the small bottle he nabbed from his desk on the way past and tips it back, shuddering at the vile taste of Snape's custom made polyjuice. He supposes he should be thankful he has this option at all. His godfather was nearly lost to them, Nagini's bite soaking his body in poison, running black through this blood. A Ravenclaw in the right place managed to get a bezoar to him just fast enough and the Professor was able to slip quietly back into the life he'd always lived. Slughorn's retirement wrapped it all up in a little bow. Had all the pieces not fallen into place, Draco isn't sure how this could have possibly worked. Snape had perfected a twist on the standard potion to include a duration of sixteen hours, along with a few other improvements. He could make it through his entire day and evening without the worry of turning back into a boy nearly everyone would hate.

The loyalists, the Order, the Death Eaters... to everyone he was a coward or a failure or a monster.

He sees the transformation begin and turns away. He's so sick of looking at that new face. The dark hair and eyes and sun-kissed skin... the visage of a man who never had to Scourgify the sick out of his own trousers after watching a muggle slit from top to bottom...the face of a boy who didn't weep in his mother's lap after they branded him painfully with a writhing skull... the look of someone not haunted by a girl's screams, begging for anyone to save her while his own family tortures her, carving letters of hate into her flesh.

Draco steadies himself and finishes tying his green tie. It's Saturday so really he has no need to be in full uniform, but as a Malfoy he was raised with expectations of dress and behavior. For him, it's really just who he is.

As he walks to the Great Hall for breakfast he notices more students than usual pay him some measure of attention. A pair of Gryffindor fifth years give him a little grin, wriggling their fingers in a flirtatious wave. A boy from Ravenclaw nods to him as he hurries up the stairs. Slytherin students don't seem to notice him, or if they do give a little sneer, but then that's nothing new. Perhaps he's finally being accepted here? It is two months into term after all. As he walks, he starts to smile back, nod in return, even give a cocky wave to a Ravenclaw sixth year girl that seems to swoon a bit as he does. He does have a rather handsome disguise, he supposes. This little piece of the Draco that was, the wealthy playboy full of promise and future, perks up deep inside and he thinks maybe, being someone else, this might be his way to the life he always expected.

When he reaches the Great Hall, he drops onto a bench at the end of the Slytherin table and ignores the odd looks he receives as he reaches for a scone. He's never been really accepted before but the looks he is receiving now are running a gamut from reviled to wary to rejoiced.

He's spreading butter on his bread when a skirt in his peripheral stops to his left and he hears a feminine huff of air from above.

"Really, Harry, I'm all for inter-house unity but this is a little forward wouldn't you say?"

Hermione Granger is looking down at him with the most natural grin he's ever seen her wear. He's never seen her like this.

Well, he has, if he thinks on it. Just not up close. He has an image of her sprinting across the Great Hall, grin plastered on her face as she flings herself into Potter's arms. He remembers at the beginning of the year when she'd been trying to settle into a relationship with the Weasel and she had smiled up at him with adoration. It had been enough to make Draco sick. But never can Draco recall Granger looking at _him_ with anything other than haughty distaste. It's a moment before he realizes what she said.

"Excuse me?" He doesn't recognize the voice that says the words but he knows they came from his mouth. Looking down the Slytherin table he sees the faces staring back at him and everything clicks into place. Using his butter knife as a mirror in the most subtle way he can, he nearly groans when he sees that lightening scar half-hidden underneath annoyingly unruly hair.

 _Salazar fuck me sideways, I've turned into Potter_ , he thinks miserably.

"I… erm… sorry, Gr-Hermione. I've just remembered I'm to meet Professor Snape this morning."

She gives him a knowing smirk and says, "Yes I heard about Potions yesterday. Is it true you managed to ruin the cauldrons for every single eighth year _and_ Professor Snape?" There's a playful glint in her eye and Draco watches her tongue peek out to wet the corner of her mouth. He is momentarily distracted before he shakes himself out of that bit of reverie. There's no reality in which Hermione Golden-Girl Granger is interested in a damaged Draco Malfoy any more than she would be the nameless, faceless half-person he is as his alter ego "Jack".

Draco tears himself from the room, not pausing to look back at the doubtless confused look on Granger's face. He has to put an end to this immediately. At the very least, there is the almost assured possibility of someone seeing two Potters at the same time: One amiable and heroic and all around irritatingly lovable and the other a broken doll of a person, marinating in self-imposed solitude. Surely Snape has a counter-potion to end this torment.

He walks with a brisk pace, just short of running and finally ends up in front of his godfather's door, huffing and panting. He flings open the door and his eyes dart the room until they land on Professor Snape who has just begun his early morning tutoring session for wayward second years.

"Mister Potter, I trust you have a reasonably acceptable excuse for interrupting my class? I invite you to explain it to me _very succinctly_."

"Professor, my potion-" He cuts off abruptly and looks at the three twelve year olds who are staring back. He clears his throat…bleeding _Harry Potter's_ throat… and starts again in that simpering way the savior of the wizarding world has. "That is, I've some questions, about my potion from last class."

Snape raises one black brow. "The one you spilled on my entire classroom?"

Huh… so that's what Granger meant. Draco misses all the fun now that he is in an advanced class that consists of only Granger, himself, and three Ravenclaws.

"Y-yes, sir. If I might… could I just speak to you in private, Sir. I promise to be quick."

With only a twitch of his left eye, Snape points to the office connected to the front of his classroom and Draco hurries inside, as fast as Potter's mediocre legs can carry him.

"Professor, I'm so sorry-"

"Was it not enough, Mister Potter, to disrupt my entire eighth year class and now you must carry over your ridiculous intrusions onto a contingent of second years who absolutely do not need any further hindrance on their already dull minds?"

"I'm not Potter, Sir, I'm Draco. It's the potion, I'm guessing. I used it like normal this morning but… _this_ is the result," he says with distaste, sharply gesturing with agitated hands.

"Mister Potter, if this is a joke-"

"Sir, I've been taking polyjuice since the first day on the train. I take a dose every day that lasts until past curfew and I go by "Jack" to everyone else. No one knows except you, Headmistress McGonagall, my parents, and the Minister. I _am_ Draco, Sir."

"How in the name of Merlin… Nevermind." He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "The incident yesterday," he realizes. "I was finishing your current batch of potion when Potter created that little catastrophe. I have your next cauldron started but I'm afraid even with my accelerated recipe it is not quite ready. You are fortunate it is a weekend so you need not concern yourself with classes."

"Yes, Sir."

"Though," he begins thoughtfully, "I could make it a bit…convenient for you," he says with an uncharacteristic gleam in his eye. "I've yet to punish Potter and Mister Weasley for that disaster. I do believe they will be in detention all afternoon and again tomorrow. That will give you ample opportunity to eat properly and make any necessary trips to the library or other class related needs."

Sometimes, he really loves his godfather. Draco grins and says, "Thank you, Professor."

Snape waves him off. "Off with you then. Make your way to your dormitory. I'll send word they are to report to me from ten in the morning until three in the afternoon both days. They can use the time to scrub every cauldron by hand. They nearly ruined half of my stock with their careless insanity. Your new potion will be finished by tomorrow at the latest; then you can destroy the rest of this defective concoction."

Draco thanks him once again and leaves with as much stealth as he can muster. He sneaks around corridors, peering around corners and down hallways, until he is safely back in his room. Only an hour until he is free to wander the school. He has that Transfiguration essay due Monday. Perhaps he could head to the library during the afternoon. Being a Hogsmead weekend, he assumes it will be relatively quiet and relishes the idea of being left alone, in this body or any other.

 **A/N**

 **I'm so impatient.**

 **I always say I won't do this. I won't slam through updates and leave myself without much time to edit. But chapter 1 was terribly short right? You deserve an update right?!**

 **Warm hugs all around to each and every one of you reading and following and reviewing and favorite-ing. Special shout out of thanks to anon reviews and also those of you without private messaging because I can't gush gratitude at you directly. (Lookin' at you, Rez!)**


	3. Chapter 3

Draco finds a table in the back of the library with his back to the wall and his eyes forward. It's an old habit, picked up from the unsavory types that flooded his home during a war. _Always sit with one's back to the wall_ , suggested Avery. _Never leave yourself exposed_ , had whispered Rowle.

It's a habit he's continued after the war and into his new existence as the blank parchment that is "Jack". He thinks it might be a good idea to do so yet again as Potter, not to draw unwanted attention.

Unfortunately, it was a gross oversight on his part as well as his godfather, thinking that taking Potter and Weasley out of the mix would make for a day free of confrontation and awkwardness. He's made aware of this when a bushy-haired witch plops down across from him and engages him with a bossy whisper. "What are you doing here?"

He looks up at her and raises an eyebrow, forgetting for a moment whose skin he wears. "I'd think you would approve, Gr-Hermione." He really needs to get a handle on using first names while he inhabits this form.

"I mean," she gestures to the books around him, "you said you had this assignment finished. What are you doing working on Transfiguration?"

He shrugs, trying for that loveable stupidity of Harry Potter. "I may have exaggerated the completeness of my essay." He's sure Potter would be in trouble for that, lying to the golden lioness. But then again, she probably expects it at this point. Her friend is an irresponsible tosser.

She huffs at him and crosses her arms. "Well that's just great..."

"Why? Some Dark Lord need slaying that calls for my attention?"

Alright so he's completely out of character and he knows it but how many opportunities will he get to trade jabs with Granger? She's so much fun to rile up; to watch her cheeks flush and her eyes narrow and pierce. He always thought she'd have been terribly entertaining to know, if he'd been afforded the luxury.

"No... Obviously," she adds with sarcastic significance. "I was just wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade today."

Draco looks back down and starts organizing his notes once again, sure the conversation is at its conclusion. "Maybe Ginny can go." He's exceptionally proud of himself for heading straight for her given name, by-passing all the potential 'weasel' driven monikers.

He's surprised when she grunts and spits out a, "Funny, Harry. Hilarious."

Draco notices she's looking away with a scowl. It occurs to him, keeping his head (Jack's head) down all year, he has no idea the state of the golden trifecta and their red-headed fangirl. With the exception of knowing she and the Ginger had dated briefly, and that there had been no big row, no huge drama, surrounding the end of that status, he assumed all was well in their little slice of paradise.

She glances back and sees him looking. He watches her take a breath and lean forward so she can lower her voice even more. "I also... I had something I wanted to speak to you about. It's... well it's personal. Private."

Great. Just fucking fantastic. Now he has two choices. He can, one, take her up on her offer and infringe upon her confidence, learning intimate details he has no right to know, or, two, he can wave her off in a completely uncharacteristic dismissal that will land Potter in hot water later and quite possibly lead to Draco's secret being discovered. Perhaps he can accompany her but keep their chat as vague as possible? He really doesn't need to know whatever girlish gossip she's about to subject Potter to.

He makes a show of closing his book and tries to slip into a mode that denotes friendship. "For you, Hermione, I suppose I can put this off until tomorrow." He grins and she returns the smile with a sigh of, what he assumes to be, relief.

"Thanks, Harry. I just... well we can talk more on the way. I miss you, I suppose. Ron too, a little, but I have to be careful there."

Draco nods sagely as if he has any idea what she means by that cryptic statement.

Using his wand to shrink the parchments, he stows them in a pocket and then returns the books to their section. He turns back to find her standing beside his table, biting her lip like she's nervous. Why that would be, Draco can't say. She's been best friends with this stupid prat since they were eleven, right?

"Ready then?"

She smiles once again and nods. With her usual head-high confidence returning, she leads him out of the library, waving a little at Madame Pince as she goes. Draco also gives a little wave but the witch gives him a look of distrust he's not sure how Potter earned.

He lags behind a little, as they walk the halls, affording himself a view of her without her eyes on him. She looks good this year. Last year, of course, was something else altogether. She was pale and skinny and smudged with dirt at the manor. Then she was fierce, all hard lines and scowls at the final battle. Since then, she has softened again, into the girl she once was. Better even. There is an air about her now, a natural grace that comes with knowing oneself. She is quietly confident in a way he doesn't remember about her.

He would suppose war can do that to a person. He came out changed as well. The difference, of course, that she bloomed into a warrior witch and a beautiful woman. He is simply a madman's discarded, broken toy.

They are outside and halfway across the grounds when she speaks. "Why are you walking behind me? Am I walking too fast?"

"Sorry," he responds in that irritating, breathy voice of Potter's. "Just thinking."

She nods and slows her pace so she is beside him. "I have too. A lot recently. About… well about everything that happened between us. Ron included."

Draco nods, waiting for more but feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

Hermione sighs and then loops her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walk. Draco tries not to stiffen.

"I wanted him for a long time you know." Draco schools the sneer on his face, knowing she means Weasley. "I just imagined it would be different. Stupid, I know. Why would he suddenly be polite and kind and thoughtful just because we were intimate right?"

Oh he did _not_ need to know _that_.

"But I still thought we could be friends if it didn't work. We are, I guess, but not like we were. It's too strange being around him. You know better than anyone, with Ginny. How long since you even spoke?"

"Feels like forever," he offers. Since he's not sure he's ever directly spoken to Ginny Weasley, it's easy to sound honest.

"Look at us: A couple of Weasley cast offs. I don't even miss the relationship. It's honestly more that I miss the three of us. Like it used to be."

"So, is this what you wanted to talk about?" He's feeling a bit relieved honestly. She just wanted to lament her lost love and wax philosophic about their friendships. He could wipe his brow, the weight of potential guilt lifting.

But when he looks over she's blushing and then she starts to pull his arm, directing him off the path.

"Not entirely, no." Quiet falls over them and Draco becomes nervous all over again as she is leading them away from the grounds, away from any other students, and nearly to the forbidden forest.

When they stop she looks up at him and smiles the most coquettish smile he's ever seen on an actual person. Not the ghastly version of Pansy Parkinson when she thinks she's being alluring either. Granger actually has a knack for making his heart beat in anticipation.

"Remember when Ron left," she asks quietly, wetting her lips.

He'd heard about that. The trio had been a duo, as he understands it, for a short time during their hunt for the Horcruxes. And so he nods because, yes, he supposes that knowing a thing is almost like remembering.

"I was so angry at him. You know how angry I was and I knew how disappointed you were. We all carried that burden but you and me… we were there for each other."

He nods again, imagining that must be true. Completely alone and afraid, they would have turned to each other for support like they were the only people on the planet.

"I know I seem strong, Harry. I mostly am, but some days… Ron didn't make me feel whole again. He just made things harder. Always being careful not to offend him or nag him…I could never just be comfortable." Her hand reaches up to rest on his chest, leaning into him, and suddenly her breath is on his neck.

"Not like with you, Harry. I'm always comfortable with you."

He swallows hard, suddenly having an idea where this is going.

"Don't look like I'm about to swallow you whole," she says with a low chuckle. Well he hadn't thought of it before but it doesn't do anything to settle his nerves. "And don't worry. I love you, Harry, but I'm not _in_ love with you. It would be just like before, in the tent."

She lightly tousles the hair at the back of his neck, playing with it so delicately; like leaves dancing on the breeze.

"Just need," she says. "An itch and a scratch. And when we want it to end, it can end."

All he manages is a croaked, "Hermione…"

She continues, stating her thoughtful case, "If things change with Ginny, I won't begrudge you of course. I'm not getting back together with Ron but someday I'm sure I'll find someone else. In the meantime, we're both unattached." She rises up and brushes her lips against his.

The tone of their interaction, the air around them, changes in that instant. Changes and _charges_. Her eyes seduce and her body pushes warm against his. She looks up at him through her lashes and he swallows again before it all comes crashing back: That he's not in his own skin.

"Hermione… I don't think that's a good idea."

She drops back onto the flats of her feet but stretches her arms around his neck. She leans back away to look at him, the result of which is her pelvis pushes against his. Draco stifles a grown behind Harry's lips. On instinct, his arms circle her waist to help hold her up.

"We've known each other a long time now. I think we can all agree you should leave the planning to me and trust when I say it's a good idea." She smirks at him and his breathing speeds.

Draco has had virtually no affection, attention, or even human interaction for weeks. He barely remembers what it feels like to touch another person's skin. He's staring at her with wide eyes over the rims of Potter's frames, his mind in a race with this heart.

"What about…" he starts, searching for something to say. "What about Ginny. I know we're not… together…" he pauses, assuming her silence to be confirmation he understands the relationships correctly, "but I can imagine she might be upset. You know, me moving on so quickly."

Hermione raises an eyebrow. "Moving on?" She laughs a little through the words, drowning them in incredulity. "We've all moved on, Harry. She certainly did at least. Anyway, this isn't anything to do with that: With her."

She leans closer again, her mouth fluttering against his lips. "You know what this is about, Harry Potter. Just this." Her tongue flicks out and barely touches the corner of his mouth before her own lips pillow his.

He groans this time, absolutely unable to prevent it and then his lips move almost against his will and he's kissing Hermione Granger and she tastes like nothing he's every had and everything he's been denied.

She backs him up and he lets her until his knees hit the stump of a long ago felled tree and then he's sitting with Hermione straddling his lap and grinding down onto him. Her skirt is splayed around them and he knows she has only her knickers separating her sex from his covered erection.

Her hands are buried in his hair and he luxuriates in that little sting when she pulls just right. Just so. Not enough to really hurt but enough to feel alive. He abandons her perfect lips to trail down her slender neck, holding the back of her head in place to attack the juncture of her shoulder, suckling her skin there gently.

"Hnnugh… Gods, Harry…"

That's all it takes. Draco moves to stand and nearly drops her on the forest floor. He mutters a shaky, "Wait", and has no idea what to do next.

"What the hell… Harry! What's wrong?" She steadies herself and looks at him in question, her hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry, Gr-Ugh!...Hermione. This is… I can't do this. It's not… I just don't think…"

"Sorry I'm not a fiery redhead who looks at you like a bleeding rockstar. Or some exotic beauty you can worship. Just plain Hermione Granger-"

"Stop." He can't handle the self-deprecation. That's his game and she's not been the monster to earn it. "That's not… Merlin, I'm just trying to do the right thing here."

"The right thing?!" She screeches at him and he knows somewhere it's because she's hurt and probably embarrassed. "You know what? Just… ugh! Nevermind. Next time you need something from me, don't make me feel like I'm obligated because we're _friends_ and that's what _friends do_." There's something in her tone that sounds like she's parroting Potter's words back at him. Is that how he seduced her into "scratching his itch" months ago at a lonely camp site? Obligation?

"I never ask anything of you. Nothing! What is it, anyway? My hair? I know that's always been everyone's favorite Hermione joke. It can't be my teeth. Fucking Malfoy saw to that."

He flinches.

"Nothing clever to say, Harry? No excuse why what _you_ need matters but I should be accepting of whatever is thrown my way?!"

He's dumbstruck by the tirade. All this because he wouldn't have sex with her? If she's not in love with Potter as she claims then her reaction to his denial is nonsensical. She's screaming at him and suddenly he thinks to cast a silencing charm.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. It _does_ matter," he placates, "of course it does."

She approaches again and rests her hands back on his chest, looking at him with those wide doe eyes. "Then why can't I need this?" Her lips press to his again and then he feels a tear rolls down her cheek and settle against his.

When he pulls back, she doesn't even try to hide it. "Harry, I'm lonely," she whispers. "Ron can hardly look at me. I don't think he'll ever forgive for not loving him the way he wanted. And I can't go home… my parents-" She chokes on the word and Draco doesn't know why but whatever it is must be bad. Were they killed in the war? He's sure he would have heard…

"I just want someone to take care of me for once. I can take care of my classes and tests and my family's affairs, and even that blasted tutoring McGonagall roped me into but sometimes I just need someone to hold me up."

He's searching her eyes as he wipes a tear from her lashes. "Will you please? Just take care of me?"

Suddenly he knows this is about a lot more than sex and he doesn't imagine he's equipped to give her what she needs. Not equipped and not to mention she'd Avada him without hesitation if she knew who he was.

He dips his head this time, initiating one more kiss while he formulates what to say. He's gentle and urges her to take her time, tasting her as she licks back at him. It's a kiss meant for healing. Comfort. Not to say he doesn't also bloody well enjoy it.

He stops and leaves his forehead pressed against hers, their noses touching and their lips puffing breath on each other. "Hermione, I'm here for you. But I don't think _this_ is what you need. Not… what you're asking. Just let me… I'm with you all day. I'll stay with you until you're tired of me but not this."

Nothing happens for a long time and then he feels her nod against him. "You're probably right… I don't always make the best choices with my heart, you know. It's just sometimes I don't want to think with my head."

He smirks at that and says as lightly as he can manage, "Yes, I believe something else might have been in control just now."

She chuckles and points a finger into his sternum lightly, "I don't believe you were complaining overmuch for a bit there."

"No… definitely not complaining." Then he says something that has more truth than she could know. More than he knew until now, for that matter. "If you meant it differently… if you wanted me for real; really wanted _me_ … this might be a different conversation."

He sees her blush as she pulls away and straightens her skirt, brushing imaginary dust from her jumper.

"It would have been easy, wouldn't it? If we felt that way about each other?"

Draco grins with Harry's mouth, in spite of himself. "Well, I don't know about easy, but it would probably have been a lot of fun."

She laughs at that and then takes his hand, pulling him back toward the path.

"Come on then, you promised me Hogsmeade and, I do recall, that you said you'd be mine all day."

There's a strength to her voice that he's heard before, only now he knows there's something vulnerable behind it. He's not surprised to find out there might be more to Hermione Granger than he knew, only that he's lucky enough to get to see it, just this once.

He doesn't have to fake the smile he gives back.

 **A/N**

 **you know who's awesome?**

 **You guys :)**

 **So glad you are enjoying this and really happy to see so many followers this early on!**

 **So this is the chapter that was basically the beginning of the original idea and the subsequent death of said idea. A few weeks ago I was reading some smutty one shots from Adult Content Greats like RZZMG and thought, here's a little PWP idea... Draco polyjuices into Harry and Hermione doesn't know and they have sex! and them somehow...you know...love ensues.**

 **I was so excited but then as I started writing it 2 things happened:**

 **1) My poor Draco often moves into a melancholic little thing. That character just didn't feel right for fluffy smut. Maybe years after the war but not when it's fresh on his teenage mind.**

 **2) It felt too non-con and I just couldn't do it. I feel like those who write enviable smut (MrBenzedrine) and those that pack a huge punch into sexy one shots (RZZMG) and basically just... _not me_... could have totally pulled it off but I couldn't seem to not feel icky**

 **Instead, welcome to a fic that became much longer and much less sex driven than intended lol. My baby Draco has a strong conscious apparently**

 **Thank you a billion times for the faves, follows, and reviews as always! I hope you will favor me with some more!**


	4. Chapter 4

"You're not going to the Quidditch shop?" Hermione is standing on the steps of a book shop, looking back at him in confusion.

When she mentioned she'd like to come here, walking happily into the small town, Draco assumed that meant she was inviting him to follow. Isn't that how friends spend the day together? By the look on her face, he's already messed up his little ruse. It seems Potter would not have accompanied her here.

He puts on his best charming smile though fears it is barely even acceptable (it's the best he can do with this face). "I said I was yours for the day. Wouldn't do to send you off on your own already would it?"

Her head tilts like she's really and truly touched. Are her friends really so blind to her, so self-absorbed that walking into a book shop is a grand favour?

"Thanks, Harry." She sounds sincerely affected and grateful.

She turns and he follows her in.

For Draco, the shop is nothing new. He's been in here a thousand times. But he tries to glance around with curiosity as if he's never before set foot.

"They moved the Quidditch and other sports section over there," she points to the right, "since last time you've been in. I'll just be over here."

They moved that section, Draco knows, roughly four years ago. So that's how long it's been since Potter would even deign to spend time around his best friend's hobby? She goes to all of his Quidditch games, not to mention saves his worthless life about once a year, and he can't browse books for an hour for her?

Draco shakes Harry's head and follows Hermione instead.

She's in the muggle literature section when he reaches her. He's been curious to explore this a bit but never felt, even after the war, that he should. At first, when he was barely more than a boy, it was indoctrinated distaste for lesser beings that kept him away, then it was the teenage pretense of cool indifference. After the war, it was more he thought he had no right to it. Like Draco Malfoy shouldn't even be allowed to peruse muggle things after his years of hatred and dismissal.

As Harry Potter, he decides he is very much allowed and takes advantage of his situation.

"You know what I find interesting about muggle literature?" She asks and it sounds rhetorical so he waits. "Well, muggles in general compared to the magical world. They have _dreams_ … sometimes really big dreams… They fantasize and they hope... What did you want to be when you grew up, Harry? When you were a child."

Draco stops his mouth from spitting out, ' _my father'_ , with self-disgust and instead shrugs his shoulders and, affecting the casual, peasant tone of a confused Harry, "Dunno."

She's looking at the book in her hand, flipping through as she speaks. "I wanted to be an astronaut. I thought I would like to fly into space and put my feet down on the moon."

 _Muggles have_ ridiculous _dreams_ , he thinks, but says nothing.

"Of course I learned as I grew up I should maybe consider alternate life plans."

He scoffs internally, glad she came to her senses, but continues nodding and listening with the rapt attention her friends _should_ give her, though they obviously don't.

"The programs at university are grueling and so costly; of course I'm sure I could have made it through. Plus I would have had to leave England and then when I found out about Hogwarts... I just moved on to other things"

Wait, muggles actually think they can go to the ruddy _moon_? _Have_ they? Draco hopes Harry's face does nothing to reveal is perplexed thoughts.

"Then I wanted to be an archaeologist… anyway though, the point is, I had dreams. Do you know what Ron wanted to be when he was a child? Of course you do…Professional Quidditch player. Along with half of his siblings and about a third of the school. Ask anyone in Ravenclaw? They want to be a healer. Admirable goals I suppose but very… well, almost practical really. This world," she lowers her voice and looks around before settling back on his face, "it's already so fantastic they don't dream of more, of doing the impossible. I miss that a little, dreaming the impossible."

"So…" he starts and not sure if Harry would even engage in the conversation, how he would do it, but taking the risk, "what do you want to do now?"

She smiles up at him and, much to his dismay, his heart flutters. "I want to do the impossible. I've already helped defeat the greatest dark wizard of our age. Maybe I'll try to replicate the Sorcerer's Stone. Or discover new potions. Or, and I've thought a lot about this, introduce muggle technology that we desperately need. I mean, you grew up with a telephone. Doesn't it ever strike you how ridiculous it is to stick your head in a fireplace to speak with someone, soot on your hands and knees, when you could just talk into a machine? I could combine them maybe, create some truly amazing solutions. Muggle dreams with the reality of magic. I think I'd like to do that."

He's listening with rapt attention, discovering a Hermione Granger he never knew. A thoughtful one. Not just bookish, repeating back facts, but really considering the world around her. He looks at her grinning mouth and remembers how she tasted and how she felt and she's looking back with trust and affection and this ridiculous gratitude that someone would even come inside her favourite shop.

Merlin, how is Harry Potter _not_ in love with her?

"I'm sure you could do whatever you decide to, Hermione."

She shrugs, suddenly looking a little humble and shy. "Maybe. Either way, I'm here to stay. I could never go back to the muggle world now. Not after seeing what else exists. And of course, with my Mum and Dad… I'm happy here," she determines. Draco still wonders what has happened with her family but again just nods at her and starts looking at the bookshelf in front of him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

After browsing the muggle books for some time, Hermione suggests "Harry" might like to look at Quidditch gear. She offers to go along since he was kind enough to follow her.

Draco really has no need or desire to visit what used to be his favourite store. He hadn't even tried out for the house team at the beginning of term. He could have, he supposes, being that he is no longer Draco Malfoy to most people, but somehow the idea of playing in foreign skin didn't feel comfortable. A win, he feared, would feel hollow. His massive pride in his family and name might be diminished, but a part of him still craves that recognition and wasn't sure he could stomach any praise showered on "Jack".

But since she's asking so generously, he accepts; both to keep up pretenses but also as not to seem ungrateful of her gesture.

She is pleasant company, even outside of her own interests. Hermione's natural curiosity leads her to ask smart questions as they look through the new gear and brooms. The makers of Firebolt recently unveiled their newest Lightening Strike with a very familiar emblem on the handle. Harry Potter had refused endorsement, but it seems they thought they could legitimize their name and marketing with a bolt shaped oddly similar to the scar Draco currently wears on his head. If it was him, he might bring a law suit to the company; might even have a case with the right council. Though he assumes Potter wouldn't even consider that.

He's fingering knee guards in a rich green when Hermione bumps his shoulder. "Thinking of playing for the other team?"

He looks down and realizes Harry Potter's hands should have gravitated to the set in Gryffindor crimson. He smirks at her and returns, "believe me I'm firmly loyal to the opposite sex, Hermione."

She blushes and bats at his arm with a grin. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Don't you ever just grow tired of red? I mean, we won't be at Hogwarts forever. Do you imagine having your entire bedroom that color? Decorate each room with gold baubles and red fabric?"

Now she rolls her eyes and reaches to pick up a custom made snitch, complete with a place for the owner's monogram. "Of course not. You know I don't even really like red and gold. Dreadful combo... But we are still in school and I don't think your team would appreciate you showing up in Slytherin colors."

He drops the guards and picks up a set in deep eggplant with lavendar trim next to them. "This better? No house rivalry here."

She laughs and agrees, "Well you are rather fetching in purple. I'd be proud of you not to support gender roles."

Secretly, Draco quite likes purple. He always felt it set off his platinum hair rather nicely. He tucks the guards under his arm and says, "Well then, I do like you to be proud of me. I suppose these are mine." He doesn't really need them of course, but imagines once he's away from school he might find someone willing to play with him. Perhaps Blaise Zabini, who is finishing his final year in Italy. He will be back in England after graduation and surely would be willing to engage in a pick-up game on the manor grounds.

"What, you're serious?"

He looks at her in question. What makes this particular purchase so out of character? If he doesn't know why she's disbelieving he's not sure how to counter it. So he shrugs in ignorance, "Yes, I quite like them. Why? Don't really think I'm fetching in purple?" He wriggles his eyebrows in mock suggestion and she giggles again.

 _Careful, Draco. Stop flirting with the Gryffindor. Best case scenario, you wake Monday morning to Potter and Granger snogging at breakfast._

"No, I actually do like you in purple. You just aren't usually so... compulsive."

"Everyone gets to be out of character on occasion, wouldn't you say? I'm sure by Monday I'll be back to my predictable self."

She follows him to the counter shaking her head and muttering, "'Predictable' isn't necessarily a word I associate with you, Harry."

He pays for the guards with galleons, of course, careful not to show his Gringotts credentials. Partially, so Hermione is not suspicious but also for the proprietor of the store. Hogsmeade is a gossipy little town, his mother always says. If anything strange surrounding either himself or Harry Potter was mentioned, it would spread to Hogwarts, Diagon, and probably half of Europe by morning.

Outside, the sun has emerged from a cloudy sky, warming his skin against the chill in the air. "Are you hungry?"

She nods back and starts toward Rosmerta's. "How about here?"

Even without his own identity, he's nervous to face the proprietor again. Looking at a woman in the eye, after you violated her in a way unthinkable to most wizards, is not something Draco feels brave enough to do.

"Can we do something different?" She stops and looks back. "There's that café, around the corner."

The place had opened the third week of term and Draco had visited nearly every Saturday. Students in general stayed away due to the higher prices and more subdued atmosphere. Probably, it would be more appropriate if he wanted to take her on a proper date but really he just doesn't know if he can keep up his charade with more people that know Harry milling about.

"Oh... the one on the corner? Are you sure?"

"Too fancy?" He teases her.

"I just hear it's a bit… intimate. You know, for friends who apparently no longer have benefits."

He laughs in spite of himself at her clever and mildly sarcastic turn of phrase. "I just thought it might be a nice change is all. We could go somewhere else…"

"No… no. That would be nice actually. Anyway, when have you known me to be a slave to convention?"

Draco offers her his arm and she takes it without hesitation. He ponders her question and knows that indeed, she is a very unconventional witch. Compared to the pureblood girls and women who have been the entirety of his social circle, she is independent and unique, caring little for what is expected of her.

Except for marks of course. She cares a great deal about her marks.

She hums happily as they walk, tilting her face up to absorb the rare autumn sun. Draco watches her and Harry Potter smiles.

 **A/N**

 **Happy Friday! It's Good Friday, but then, isn't Friday always good? :)**

 **So I've had a couple glasses of wine and very little time to edit. The combination of that is... well, what you just read. So forgive any typos please? So happy to be posting another WIP and hearing from you as you read. Huge thanks as always for comments, follows, and faves. Reviews would make my night! Big big thanks as always to all of you reading, following, and reviewing!**


	5. Chapter 5

The restaurant is dim and decorated in lush, deep colors. Elaborate wood working trims the walls and ceiling in dark tones and the walls are a rich charcoal grey.

A woman in blue blouse and smart black skirt greets them as they enter. "Good afternoon to you both. Will it be two dining with us?"

Draco dons a genial smile and nods. "Please."

Hermione is glancing around with admiration and Draco thinks he made a good choice.

They are escorted to a table on the far wall, nearly tucked into what seems to be a bricked-up fireplace. The other tables are mostly empty and the few patrons in attendance speak to each other in hushed tones or not at all. "It's lovely in here," Hermione tells him quietly as they approach their table.

Draco moves first to the right and pulls the chair out, standing behind it expectantly for Hermione to accept the seat. The strange look she gives him reminds him yet again who he is and he tries to cover it with a sheepish grin. She moves forward and sits with one last look at him over her shoulder.

Once he has taken his own place, the hostess presents them both with a menu. There is a very small selection of items and each is paired with a beautiful photograph. They are wizarding images of course, steam rolling off of warm meats and breads, butter glistening in the low light.

"Foie gras?" she intones as she begins to read. Draco, thinking to come to her rescue and educate her on finer foods, starts to answer her.

"It's duck liver, prepared-"

"I know what it is," she whispers back a little pompously. "Shocked you do honestly. I'm just surprised a wizarding restaurant would serve it."

"Wizards don't have ducks?" he quips back. Probably, from Draco she would have taken it as cruelly sarcastic, but as Harry she giggles a little before her facial expression reverts to a correcting admonishment.

"Of course they do. I mean the practice of over-feeding the animal... muggles are notoriously entitled to the world around them but I always thought the magical world was more in-tuned with the earth and all that."

Draco isn't sure exactly how muggles manage the dish, but it's not a difficult feat for a wizard to enhance the duck's inability to burn fat. He almost engages in the debate and then remembers that Potter most likely wouldn't know anything about fine cuisine nor magical food preparation. He settles on a shrug and continues reading the menu.

What would Potter order? He seems the type that would be most at home with a sandwich and chips. Unfortunately, this caliber of restaurant doesn't have anything to cater to his plebian needs so Draco will have to make do. "Steak looks good," he mutters quietly, trying to sound excited by a very humdrum dish.

Granger hums in agreement before she settles on, "I think I'll have the duck confit. Not something I get terribly often anymore. You know, I always used to have it on my birthday. There was this place," she starts to lose herself in the story, voice growing a little stronger and brighter, "I chose it for three years in a row. They had the most amazing duck but really, it was their crème brulee that I wanted. Once, my father," she chokes on the word a little but clears her throat and moves past it, "my father, he tried to take me for fish and chips. I was probably thirteen and he thought I'd like that for my birthday. I was so upset I wouldn't have crème brulee he bought my mother a torch for Christmas so she could make it for me. I think he was just tired of having that same restaurant every year…" She trails off her musing and again Draco wonders what happened to the Granger family during the war.

"Do you still go," he asks," to the restaurant?"

She shakes her head and says softly, "I don't want to anymore. Doesn't feel right without them."

Now he knows something happened. Not knowing how Potter might comfort his friend (other than apparently hot shagging in a tent) he tries to lighten the mood. "Well," he points to his menu, "they have crème brulee here. Shall we indulge?"

Her smile returns and she cocks her head to the side. "Why, Harry Potter, did you just use 'indulge' in casual conversation? Maybe I'm rubbing off on you."

"Well I suppose after seven years something would stick by now."

XXXXXXXXXXX

It's nearly two in the afternoon when they leave and Draco knows they have to head back to the castle. The prat of which he is a doppleganger is about to be released from Snape's clutches so he needs to return to his rooms.

He shouldn't have done this, he knows. Spending the day with Granger was dangerous and stupid. Surely she will mention something to Potter…

He's had a matter of hours to learn a lifetime of a witch he realizes he barely knew. He knew she was brilliant and courageous and, he would have admitted reluctantly a few months ago, quite pretty. What he is beginning to see now is she is loyal and clever and kind to her friends but fierce in the face of opposition. He supposes that shouldn't come as a surprise, having been on the wrong end of her fist years ago. Her quick mind lends itself to her being quite funny at times and always engaging. He thinks this is probably a waste on her usual friends and had made conscious efforts to make his responses a little slower. Not to appear as thick as Weasley of course. Potter is at least sharper than that.

"Well I suppose we should go back. I have a lot of homework to do. Think I'll hole myself up in the heads' dorm until morning."

He nods, relieved to have at least a day's reprieve before this could come crashing down on his head.

They walk for a while when she says. "You know, this was a really nice day, Harry. We never do this anymore, just us. Maybe… maybe sometime we could do this again?"

 _Bad idea, Draco. Wretched, terrible, stupid idea._

"Sure. Maybe tomorrow, if I'm free." He wishes silently to Salazar Slytherin that Snape has difficulty finishing his potion today. Six more vials tempt him…

She nods and then he thinks of a way to at least get through the next 24 hours. "Let's not mention it. To Wea-Ron or anyone. In case he's… you know jealous or something." From what he's garnered today he thinks that sounds like a plausible thing to say.

She nods. "I agree. Let's just enjoy being friends without any dramatic situations… from _either_ of the Weasleys in our lives."

Draco is able to relax from there. He's a Slytherin after all. He survived a war. He can manage being temporary friends with Hermione Granger.

A shame though, the temporary bit. Best not dwell on that…

After a little more conversation and, what seems to Draco, too short a time, they are walking back into the castle. Draco had suggested they take a different route. Change of scenery, he'd said. She shrugged and followed and so he'd led her on a path mostly only Slytherins used, as not to run into many Gryffindors (especially his twin counterpart).

As they round the corner on the fourth floor, they are met with the imposing image of Professor Snape bearing down on them with purpose.

"Mister Potter. If I might have a word about your most recent potion?"

Draco looks back at Hermione with Harry's green eyes and memorizes the relaxed and natural beauty of her face. He'll see her again. Maybe tomorrow. Definitely in class. But that will be different. She won't look at him like she does today. All that affection and warmth will be absent, no matter what face he wears since, apparently, if his Godfather's appearance is any indication, it won't be this one.

With what feels like absolute finality he tells her, "Goodnight, Hermione." Tomorrow he will be Jack. Tomorrow he will be without family or friends. He will be alone once more and he finds he is lamenting that for the first time since term began.

She looks at him curiously, searching his face, before she responds back that she will see him tomorrow and then he is following his godfather back to his classroom, clenching his fists and resisting the urge to look back at her one more time.

 **A/N**

 **Poor Draco... Life looked up for just a moment. How easily he resigns himself to his solitude.**

 **Thank you so much to all of you who are reading! I'm so happy to see people enjoying this, and love seeing new faces following and reviewing! For those of you I recognize, thank you so much for coming back for another story! For those of you I don't, I'd love to invite you, if you are enjoying my general style, to check out my completed stories. I have a couple of longer pieces that are similar in serious tone to this one and a couple of short stories/one-shots that are much fluffier fare. Questions? Drop them in a review or send me a PM. Updates should keep up on this pace. Next 3 chapters have already gone through my first round of revision. Finer editing should be done daily to keep the posts frequent.**

 **Huge thanks to the reviewers, including anonymous since I can't talk to you directly. Chocolate bunnies for everyone!**


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione watches Harry's retreating back as he trudges after Snape. It's no surprise he would look disappointed to be confronted by their Potions professor, but the devastated look he'd given her had been something else entirely

This had been, without a doubt in Hermione's mind, the oddest day she'd spent with Harry Potter. He has been a dear friend for as long as she has known him. She followed him into hell and back and would do so again and again. She loves him unconditionally. It is unfortunate, in her opinion, that she doesn't love him in quite the way that would make their extracurricular activities a bit more socially valid.

But today he was different. She started to wonder the moment he turned her down for a bit of a romp in the woods. First, because he turned her down at all, having been more than happy to scratch his own itch with her in the past, but secondly because of the way he had done so. He had seemed concerned for her as if he hardly knew her. As if seeing her vulnerable was a surprise. Harry has to know she struggles sometimes. He has seen her at the lowest of her depths, afraid and angry and desperate as they had been last year.

Not to mention, his response to Snape's interruption of their afternoon was striking to her. Harry looked at her like he was sinking into an abyss; marching to a guillotine with no hope of return. She knows Snape can be a bit foreboding, but Harry's reaction seemed dramatic even by those standards; especially for the almost stupidly brave Harry Potter.

She makes a decision and sets off to follow her friend, unsure of what she might find and quite nervous at the possibilities.

If there is one thing she has learned from befriending Harry so many years before, it is how to sneak around the castle unseen. Age and experience has just made it all that much easier. A non-verbal muffling spell hits her feet as the cold seeping sensation of a standard notice-me-not drips from her head to her toes. She is just far enough behind that she can see them turn a corridor before losing them completely. It's obvious they are headed down to the dungeons and, Hermione suspects, Snape's classroom and private office.

When they reach the room, they continue into his office and Hermione is relieved when they do not completely latch the door. She has just enough of a view through the crack by the hinges to remain out of sight while still watching the exchange.

"That was perhaps not the most intelligent of things you've ever undertaken."

"What in particular?" Harry asks and he sounds petulant in a way she's not used to.

"Spending time alone with Miss Granger. You think she doesn't know her closest friend enough to see a discrepancy?"

Discrepancy... She had suspected... there was that nagging feeling that started this morning but now her wariness grows and she's afraid of what she's about to find out.

"I think that denying her request to spend the day could have cast just as much suspicion. I took a risk."

"An ill-advised one. Nevertheless, it is done and no longer a concern. I thought it best to pull you away from her before the real Mister Potter happened upon you. He left my detention moments ago."

She sees Harry nod but there is a sinking feeling in her stomach. Hermione is a smart witch. Unerringly clever. Her mind is repeating "real Mister Potter" and the conclusion should be obvious, but she's suddenly feeling a stubborn ignorance; feasting on denial.

"Here. Take this now before you leave and ruin more than two months of efforts." Professor Snape hands Harry a small glass container with a mouthful of liquid swirling inside.

Harry's face takes on a resigned quality and then he shoots the vial like a pull of whiskey. Hermione watches him grimace at, she presumes, the taste. She knows what it is. Even before she sees his features morph and twist, she knows. Polyjuice.

He's not...

He's not _Harry._

She should probably be mortified that she threw herself at someone she doesn't know but, more than that, she's feeling a strange mix of guilt for not knowing her best friend, confusion as to who it might be, and lastly a strange sorrow.

This has been a beautiful afternoon. Harry had been his most engaging, most comforting, most clever self. Whoever she has been with, she might never know again. She was, it seemed, only a means to an end for whoever this is. A way to keep up pretenses and preserve a secret.

She watches as Jack rubs his face. Jack: The strange seventh year that seems to have no family, no history, no life outside of the quiet student in all the advanced classes. Jack who could not even meet her eye during Advanced Runes. Jack from whom she borrowed a quill and he'd barely grunted in recognition of her thanks.

"I'm tired of this, Professor. Sometimes I forget who I even am. It's so hard, not being myself. You can't imagine…"

"Yes," Snape sneers dryly at him, "I can't possibly imagine what it would be like to live a lie for an extended period of time. Forgive me my _utter lack of sympathy_."

Jack blinks and tries to backtrack. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean you don't know… I mean, you probably understand... More than most people. I just… It's just harder than I thought."

"And yet we persevere. Here." Snape hands him a box with, presumably, more vials of his potion. "At least we can be assured this batch has not been compromised. Destroy the remaining vials of the Potter tainted recipe. You are fortunate this cauldron was already in final stages.

He accepts the box and murmurs his thanks. Snape waves him away and takes a seat at his desk. "Run along then. I will see you in Potions Tuesday."

Hermione flattens herself along the wall behind the door and watches Jack as he exits. Peering again through the crack to find Snape engrossed in work, she sneaks out and back into the corridor.

Now her mind really starts turning. She's a jumble of emotions still but also now focused on the riddle. The question.

Who is Jack? If she understands the situation correctly, and she's confident enough to know she does, he's not Jack at all. Is he someone she knows? Someone from their original class perhaps? So few of their peers had returned, he could be any number of identities that were supposedly not coming back to Hogwarts.

Is Snape's involvement indicative? Could this be a student their Potions Professor would gladly help? Or has Snape simply been strong-armed into yet another task he would otherwise find distasteful. Even knowing his true loyalties, she finds the man no more pleasant than when she thought he was a Death Eater.

One thing Hermione Granger knows, is there is a reason she was sorted as a lion. A Slytherin might sit on this knowledge until the right time. A Ravenclaw would surely seek out more facts; more information. A Hufflepuff would have an emotional response of either betrayal or sympathy. But as a Gryffindor? She's going to talk to this "Jack" and find out to whom she offered her body, who instead made her feel appreciated in a way she rarely had.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Who are you?"

Draco stops dead in his tracks. He had nearly made it back to his room. He thought he was in the clear. His mind a jumble of ideas, mostly surrounding those six remaining vials. Six days to see her again. Maybe he could stay home for the hols after all? Maybe Potter will have a well-timed Quidditch practice? Maybe…

But that bossy voice is unmistakable and he takes a fortifying breath. He schools his features and turns to face her. "I suppose we've never been properly introduced, have we? Jack." He extends his hand to her and she looks at him incredulously, an eyebrow raised.

"You'll have to do better than that."

He falters and lets his hand drop. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes. You can help me know who I spent my day with because it sure as hell wasn't Harry Potter." She crosses her arms and looks at him expectantly. When he doesn't respond quickly enough, she spells it out once again in a clear question. "Who are you _really_? Not whoever this Jack is meant to be and not Harry. I think I have a right to ask after you took advantage of me today."

He blinks, incredulous…offended… before blurting out, "Took advantage?! What the fuck, Granger, I did no such thing!"

She smirks a little and he knows he messed up by that look on her face. "You _know_ me." There is no question in her tone. His use of her name was too natural. Too familiar.

He tries to deflect with a scoff. "Everyone knows you. Hermione Granger: Harry Potter's best friend. The brains behind the death of the Dark Lord. All around savior and brightest witch to grace these halls in a century."

"Careful now, you'll make me blush."

It's his turn to raise an eyebrow. "After today I'd venture you're not quite the blushing type."

Hermione shrugs and gestures to his door. "Would you like to invite me in or do you want to continue in the hall? I assume you'd like to keep your secrets and I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

He stares at her a moment before throwing up his hands and muttering "fine" a little too angrily. He opens the door and she flounces past, her curls swinging with her hips.

Draco enters and tosses the box he carries onto his chest of drawers, shutting the door behind him with his foot. When he turns, she is already sitting primly on the edge of his desk chair, one leg crossed over the other. Draco flops down on his bed opposite her and glares.

She snickers a little at his expression. "You were much more affable as Harry."

"Yes well you were much less of a nosy little swot when you thought that's who I was."

He watches the mirth fall away and then she's eyeing him closely. Too closely. He shifts and can't hold her gaze.

"Who are you," she asks again. He looks back at her and finds her still staring, still studying his face.

"I can't... I'm not really supposed to..." He trails off. Technically there is no rule against Draco revealing his identity. This plan was more for his comfort and those around him than anything. Many of the Ministry officials who might have decided school completion was integral to his reformation would have happily sent him back here in his own skin to endure the mockery and hatred he was admittedly due. Only because it was the Minister who made the determination, had this plan gone into place, mostly at the urging of a now renowned Severus Snape.

"You can't tell me? I can't imagine a scenario in which that is true. What are you, a spy?" She laughs a little and he remembers an hour ago he might have joined her.

"I'm no one you would want to know."

"You don't know that. I actually thought we had a rather pleasant afternoon. I assume you were a student here. One that decided not to come back. Maybe we were friends before-"

"We weren't," he interrupts.

She shrugs. "Maybe we could have been. You were very friendly today. That can't have been all for pretenses. You could have told me to go hang and passed it off as not feeling well or something. We have a lot in common as well. Probably more than me and Harry. We had to know each other, at least a little?"

Suddenly he's feeling defensive, his self-preservation, mixed with self-loathing and a dash of self-pity, is a volatile recipe directed at the unfortunate witch in the room. Here she is, pleading with him for truth, showing a vulnerable side that seems to want to befriend whoever she thinks he might be…

How _dare_ she? She has no idea who he is, what he's _done_. For her, it's so bloody easy, isn't it? Anyone in the wizarding world would be honored to know her. She can't begin to imagine what it might be like to be on the wrong side. Snape can at least wash away his years of being an utter prick as part of his disguise. For Draco, he was an _actual_ prick. Not to mention a villain.

"You don't know me, Granger, and you don't need to. Whatever this complex is of yours," he waves his hand in her general direction. "Hero complex, God complex, or just your discomfort with not knowing absolutely fucking everything... stops _here_. I'm not a project or a puzzle or a house elf." He stands and opens his door, gesturing for her to use it. "Now get out."

The look on her face is undeniably hurt and then she schools her features with almost as much practice as Draco. "Fine. But I will find out who you are. I'm brilliant remember? You think I can't narrow it down? Simple process of elimination, _Jack_." She uses his name with as much mockery as venom and then she's out the door and he slams it behind her, nearly clipping her backside.

"Meddling fucking Gryffindor."

Draco is sad as much as anything. Any hopes of Jack continuing a friendship with Hermione Granger have been officially obliterated. He supposes he may as well destroy the extra six doses after all.

 **A/N**

 **I'm just super happy so many of you are enjoying this and really appreciate all the reviews so far! They truly do inspire me. I've even written a couple of fluffy one shots the last two days. You have yourselves to thank for my productivity. :) Thank you to all of you, including the Guests, and Rain who I can't answer directly, for your lovely comments. I'm so excited to see what you think of this one!**


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione becomes somewhat obsessive over the identity of "Jack" in the coming days. It would be no surprise to anyone who knows her of course. There is nothing that eats away at her quite like not knowing an answer. Even Jack, whoever he is, had accused her of as much. Which is proof positive she knows him as far as she's concerned.

Her first step is to make a chart of potential candidates. Parchment has not derailed her love of a good college-rule notebook for straight lines. Marking perpendicular lines down the page to create columns, she writes the four Hogwarts houses at the top.

Beginning with what she thinks to be the most obvious, she assumes the student to be either an "eighth" year, school interrupted by war as hers had been, or a true seventh year. This seems a logically place to start since he is currently enrolled in final year classes. That simple deduction narrows down the list to only two classes, at an average of around thirty students each.

She struggled briefly, with her next criteria, ultimately decided to listen to her gut.

There is no definitive reason the person could not be a witch. A female. Snape's potion, an improvement on traditional polyjuice, seems to be complete and nearly flawless, all the way down to the voice. If regular polyjuice can accomplish the task, she assumes it could trade genders easily enough as well. But something about the person makes her believe he's not living that far away from his normal identity. Keeping up with this charade for months would certainly have been easier if they let him retain some aspects of his true self. It wouldn't make sense to add undue stress to his day to day.

It might be a bit of wishful thinking on her part as well. Something about him had been very appealing. What had felt strange when she thought she was with Harry, she realized later was the beginnings of a very out of character "crush". Besides her short relationship with Ron and her little infatuation with Lockhart in her second year, Hermione has had very little experience with overt interest in the opposite sex.

Oh, there were men who were fit enough of course. There had been fellow students she could admit were handsome or appealing. Viktor had _definitely_ given her pause.

Yet, other than Ron, she'd never really cared that much; pursued anyone. This boy though, whoever he was, had flipped her upside down just a little. She had denied it to herself that first day, not wanting to confuse her already muddy relationship with Harry. As soon as she realized he was someone else, intrigue replaced hesitation. He'd been a little cruel to her at the end; temperamental... but she brushed that aside easily. She was, after all, hounding him regarding his secrets. She recognizes he has every right to keep them, but justifies her actions that he seemed to be a little troubled, a little lonely, and altogether too isolated.

 _It's not healthy_ , she has told herself.

And so, back to her deductions, male students in only two class levels makes for an already short selection. Her list is now halved in one fell swoop.

Next, and this might be presumptuous, she decides to extrapolate that he is an "eighth year". His familiarity with her, his reaction to her name leads her to that conclusion. He says they were never friends, but she still saw the reality in his eyes. She knows him and he knows her, in some capacity at least. Because she was not terribly familiar with students in lower years, logic follows he was likely in her classes.

Her process up to this point might not be completely scientific, but Hermione has tried to learn a little from the impetuous Harry Potter over the years. Sometimes, instinct has some merit after all.

She is ready, then, to break down what is left into houses.

First was the Gryffindor roster. Harry, Ron, Neville... present and accounted for. She had heard Dean and Seamus were travelling Asia together. A sort of "sewing their wild oats" adventure (though the rumour was they were sewing those oats _together_ if you catch the meaning). She can't confirm that first hand but it seems likely as anything. She writes them in her chart but then crosses the names out to indicate they are unlikely.

Corner, Entwhistle, and Boot had returned in Ravenclaw. That leaves the possibility of Stephen Cornfoot, whom she would hardly know from Adam, and Anthony Goldstein, with whom she had a perfectly civil relationship and she can't imagine him facing her with so much animosity. Again, she writes their names but with the line crossed through. Perhaps she is being too hasty, especially in negating Stephen, but it doesn't seem to fit what she knows so far.

Ernie and Justin had returned from Hufflepuff. That leaves Wayne Hopkins and Zacharias Smith. Hermione knows very little of Wayne. He had been a relatively quiet student both before and during the war. However, she has heard he is living in the States with a great aunt. She can't know that for certain, but her source had been Ginny before the Great Weasley Break-Ups that had caused a fallout between them. Ginny was never really a gossip and so she assumed the information to have been pretty common knowledge.

Zacharias, on the other hand, she has plenty enough frame of reference. It's certainly not that she doubts he could have been so mean in their last confrontation, it's more that she doubts he could have been such divine company during their day. She leaves his name open but knows she will cross it out if she finds a better candidate.

That leaves, of course, Slytherin house. To Hermione, this is already a likely choice. Who else would have something to gain by hiding their identity from the school? Those with questionable ties would have a difficult time in this post-war era. Snape's involvement seems to support this as all the more likely.

Obviously, it's not Vincent Crabbe, she thinks to herself with very little remorse. It was terrifying to watch as he was engulfed by flames, but time has healed her and the war hardened her. She has very few tears to shed for the cruel boy who crucio'd Neville with relish and tried to turn her over to certain death during the battle.

Draco Malfoy, as she understands, stood trial in front of the Wizengamot and was lucky to escape the kiss. It is common knowledge amongst the Order of the Phoenix that Kingsley himself had to step in to ask the Wizengamot to show mercy. Word on the street is he is serving a house-arrest sentence with his father, and good riddance to them both.

Blaise Zabini is finishing his year in Italy near his mother's family. Much like Dean and Seamus, she can't absolutely prove it, but she did see a letter he had written to Daphne Greengrass so it seems a pretty sound truth. Not to mention, as a student who had remained untouched by direct contact to Death Eaters in his family, she doesn't imagine coming back to school would have been an impossibility for the likeable boy, regardless of his House.

Theo Nott left to take over as head of the Nott house, his father landing in Azkaban for the rest of his natural life. Having stayed mostly out of the war himself, Hermione doesn't doubt he can turn around his family name. As she had seen in the Daily Prophet, he has already started doing so with a self-imposed betrothal to Slytherin's notorious halfblood Tracey Davis, breaking the pureblood tradition of his lineage and creating a softer reputation around his name.

That leaves, what is to Hermione's mind the most likely candidate, as Gregory Goyle. She has heard next to nothing about his fate after the war.

It's not so far-fetched, she ponders thoroughly. He had seemed a bit thick of course, but relegated as he was to Malfoy's thug, perhaps he was underestimated? Misunderstood. Truthfully, he had glowered a lot but it was more Malfoy and the imposing Crabbe that had really troubled her. Malfoy was a nuisance and a bigot, Crabbe was actually almost frightening, but Goyle was the silent type. Maybe he is not at all what she thought. Maybe Greg Goyle is a swan amongst ducklings if she would only do herself the favor and take a second look…

After another three days of considering, she has all but settled on her theory and needs only test it to be certain. The opportunity arises in Ancient Runes when they are called upon to divide into pairs. It's such a small class, that's certainly not difficult. Hermione drops herself into the chair next to "Jack", all the while imagining Goyle's pudgy features.

She smiles a little to herself, remembering the kiss they shared, and wonders if it was his first. She never noticed Greg with any female companionship to speak of. She recalls the yule ball he had attended with Crabbe "as friends". The pair had stood, almost back to back, with their arms folded, scowling at the room. This little self-serving part of herself, personally used to being the wallflower and the "less than" amongst the witches of Hogwarts, feels a little thrill she might have been something special for someone. That she might have been someone's first.

"What are you doing?" He hisses the question at her and she raises an eyebrow.

"Pairing up. That _was_ the assignment."

He grumbles and crosses his arms petulantly and she thinks again of the yule ball. Hermione Granger doesn't mind a challenge. Breaking through to Greg Goyle, obviously looking to better himself by coming back from the war, will be difficult, but Hermione is certain he will be worth it. If their day together is any indication, there is so much more to him. Someone Hermione would like to know very much. She grins to herself as the assignment is laid out and starts to schedule study sessions in her head.

 **A/N**

 **Oops... almost had it, Hermione. So close**

 **Big thanks for all of you reading this little story and as always, internet love for the faves, follows, and reviews!**

 **Special thanks to LightofEvolution for the shout out on her lovely time trope Do it with some style? It's just starting to heat up so hurry and jump onboard!**

 **And also to Phinoa, who I recently discovered is working on a very different take of a polyjuiced Draco. Phinoa made me a lovely manip, now the image attached to my recent one shot A Good Start**

 **I write for me but I also write for you! If you're happy, I'm happy... just please tell me about it in a review :)**


	8. Chapter 8

The Ancient Runes assignment called for each pair to work together on the identification of a _particularly_ ancient rune. Predictable enough.

Draco, however, spends the remainder of the class period pouting and huffing and completely ignoring the symbols in front of them. He hadn't spoken to Granger since the moment he demanded she vacate his private room. Now, here she is, shoving herself into his life yet again.

He'd caught her looking, of course. No doubt Gryffindor's Princess was trying to solve the riddle of his disguise; either for the academic purpose of just knowing a fact or, worse, out of some sense of pity that he was hiding away his true self.

What he really wanted was for this term to mercifully end. If he could even just get away for the holidays, he is sure she will be less "dog with a bone" about his identity by the time they would get back.

At the end of class, the stubborn little witch had outright demanded he meet her on the grounds for a Runes study session. The afternoon was unseasonably warm and, she claimed, even she needed the occasional break from the library.

He finds her later sitting atop a blanket, some distance from the castle, nearly at the edge of the forest. His mind wanders unbidden to her soft lips pillowing his, her small frame straddling him wantonly. Then, even worse, to her sorrowful eyes when she had asked… begged… that just for once someone hold her up.

Yet she seemed pretty self-assured when she barged into his room and demanded information to which she had no right. He tries to hold on to that sense of injustice at her assumptions and throws himself down on the blanket. "Let's get this done then."

The words are barely out of his mouth when she blurts out, "I've figured it out. I know who you are."

Everything stops.

He looks at her wide-eyed and starts to object, the world titling. He intends to tell her that she can't possibly know what she's talking about. Whatever she thinks she knows is nothing more than conjecture. Or maybe he should beg that she keep his secret. To appeal to her heart, lay himself prostrate at her mercy.

Instead, before he can decide what the bloody hell he should do, she continues quickly. "Don't worry though, I won't tell anyone," she assures adamantly. "I understand, why you might not want anyone to know. I just wanted to tell you so you know… So you don't have to spend this whole year alone."

She tucks a curl behind her ear and pink spreads softly across her cheeks. Where has the brazen witch gone, digging into his private affairs? Suddenly she seems shy, like she's surprised by her own forward behavior. Her now demure expression is as much a jarring departure from her usual demeanor as it is strangely appealing. He shakes his head, as much to clear it of this ridiculous infatuation, as to indicate disagreement. "I'm just Jack, Granger. That's all."

She places a hand on his knee, leaning her body toward him, and for just the barest of seconds, Draco isn't sure he remembers to breathe. She leans in close and he stares into those warm brown eyes. "I know it must be hard. The war was hard for everyone but you especially, losing such a close friend. Someone you'd known since childhood I imagine. I didn't really know him. Probably even less than I knew you." She chuckles a little but there's no cruelty in it. "I'm sure he was just fine with that of course. I don't think he was particularly interested in knowing me. Regardless, I'm sure it's still hard, even if he never saw the _real_ you."

"The real me?"

"Sure." She shrugs, as if everything she's saying is obvious. "I suppose being in someone else's skin, you probably feel free to be yourself. I mean, shopping in the muggle section with me at the book store, walking around with a," her voice lowers, "mudblood… I can only imagine there is a part of you that always wanted that freedom. I mean, not to talk to _me_ necessarily, just the ability to do what you wanted. To _choose_ what you wanted. You seemed to sincerely enjoy yourself that day in Hogsmeade. I'm guessing your friends never knew though: Your other interests. And of course you couldn't be open with your House or your family."

He shakes his head dumbly, still processing how she worked it out and why she's being so kind.

She's staring at him so earnestly, eyes soft and breath warm on his face. Draco just stares back until she speaks again.

"I didn't lose any friends really. I mean not like you did, with Cr-Vincent. Fred Weasley… that was hard. You know I'm quite close to them, the Weasleys, even without anything working with Ron. But I didn't know Fred as well so it's not the same. Not like losing your best made. You… the three of you really… you were always together." She hesitates before continuing, "Regardless, I _do know_ what it's like to lose someone."

She takes a deep breath and Draco is still staring, not sure if he can speak or what he would even say.

"No one knows this but Harry and Ron. But," she pauses, clearly searching for words, "and I thought a lot about this… since I'm keeping a secret of yours, I thought maybe you'd feel better if you had one of mine."

His mind starts working again and alarm bells sound. She wants to impart a secret. This reeks of her trying to form a connection; to bond. He doesn't need this headache. It's bad enough she managed to worm her way into his brain with one misdirected kiss. "Stop, Granger. Really, you don't need to-"

"I do," she interrupts stubbornly. "I really do. Please." She closes her eyes and when they open again they are glassy. "My parents… I… You see, I lost them. To the war."

He starts, surprised she would so freely give something so personal. He hadn't had time to even know what to expect but it wasn't that. As for her parents, he's sure he would have known if they had been targeted and killed.

"Did they… did the Dark Lord…?"

She shakes her head sadly. "They're alive. At least, they are as far as I know."

He thinks that sounds terribly cryptic and then she locks eyes with him and says simply, "I sent them away." Like such a thing could ever be that simple

With a fortifying, shaky breath, she continues. She strengthens her voice with put-on bravado. "Before I left with Harry to find the Horcruxes, I Obliviated them, you see. They live in Australia now. Wendell and Monica Wilkins… At least, they _think_ that's who they are. They don't know about me anymore. They… they don't believe they ever had children."

She chokes on a sob and Draco doesn't have any idea what to say to her. He settles on, "I'm sorry, Hermione."

At the sound of her name, she looks up and offers a sad smile. "Thank you." After a moment of quiet, she says, "I'm telling you because I want you to know you can trust me. I kept secrets for Harry for years and I have my own. I can keep yours too. I just… I don't want you to think you have to be alone all year. No one deserves that."

"So we can have slumber parties and you'll braid my hair?" He meant it to come out a little sarcastic, to push her away; keep her at arms length. He thought he was getting to close to something impossible like "hope" and he needed to make sure she didn't continue to burrow her way into his life.

How it came out though must have sounded playful and clever because she laughs. "I'm afraid 'Jack' doesn't have quite enough to braid but maybe we could just study together? Visit Hogsmeade on occasion?" She grins and offers as if an aside, "You know I'm not flush with friends myself. I was never the type to have girlfriends and then I went and botched my friendship with Ron. Now I hardly see Harry without Ron around to make it awkward. I wouldn't _mind_ so much being an outcast. Sort of used to that. But being an outcast together might be… nice."

She pauses a moment, grinning at him, and then finishes, "I really enjoyed our day together. Seeing who you really are, I realize you're someone I think I'd like to know."

She tilts her head at him, still smiling, looking like she wants him to do something.

 _Agree_ , he supposes. She wants him to agree.

Slowly, against his better judgment which is screaming at him in protest, Draco nods. "You can't… tell anyone though. Alright? You _have_ to call me Jack. Even if you think no one can hear. You have to promise." She nods and he goes on thoughtfully, "I'm surprised you're being so nice about it and I really don't want to deal with anyone else. And…." He pauses and licks his lips, caught up now in her sunny expression, nodding along as she listens and confirms his terms, "I don't think of you… that way… that word that you said. Mud-…. I just don't."

She seems to accept his poor apology. "Let's just start fresh. We never really knew each other well anyway." Extending her hand, she tilts her head back and says confidently, "I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you, Jack."

Draco wraps his fingers around hers and then, surprising her by the look on her face, turns her hand and lightly kisses her knuckles. "The pleasure is mine, Miss Granger."

She blushes a little. "I'll say this, pureblood families keep some beautiful traditions alive."

Draco smiles and, for the first time since he boarded the Express for this final year, feels like maybe things are looking alright.

 **A/N**

 **Hermione is a very confident witch isn't she? So assured with her theory she doesn't even realize the hole in her logic. The door she left wide open to her own mistake. Everything she hinted at sounds exactly like Goyle in her head, yet completely convinced Draco she knows who he is.**

 **Love reading all of your reviews! We are about 1/3 of the way through so let's do a little review roll call to say how much I appreciate your comments!**

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 **And huge shout out to you lovely followers and favoriters! A lot of you following this story so far. I hope you are enjoying it and can't wait to read your thoughts!**


	9. Chapter 9

He's not sure how she roped him in to this. Draco secretly thinks Hermione Granger was wrongly sorted. She is far too crafty for Gryffindor. After the shock had worn off and the flush had retreated from his cheeks, Draco realized he'd let a pretty face turn his head and trick him out of his solitary routine. He had promised himself he would tell her he didn't have the time to work on their project that often. He decided he needed to nip this situation in its proverbial bud before she got too cozy.

Yet here they are, both in the library with a pile of books between them, for the third day in a row. She keeps glancing up to look at him until he catches her. He would guess she is trying to see through the potion, trying to imagine his real face within.

The first two sessions were much the same: He is quiet and reserved, she is curious.

She told him, yesterday, she can't get over how different he seems than what she expected. To a casual observer it could easily be understood she is getting to know Jack. Draco knows she means he seems different than he did _before_. Before the war. Before now. She means it as a compliment he assumes, since she had a less than favorable opinion of him in the past. She seems almost awed; completely amazed to find he's more than what she always imagined.

Part of him appreciates the praise, for what's it worth, but part of him thinks he has gone about this the wrong way. His quiet nature the last two days isn't _him_ either. Maybe it's time he lets his snark out to play? He may not be the evil prick he used to be, but he's still a sarcastic little shite at times, and quite likes it that way.

Finally, after the tenth time he catches her staring, he lays the quill down hard on the book. "I don't know what you think you'll find but my face won't change before your eyes."

Her cheeks go pink and she ducks her head, writing furiously. "Sorry."

Draco sighs and leans back, arms crossed over his chest. "You may as well just look until you're satisfied. I don't fancy continuing this cat and mouse for the duration of this little project."

She looks up and winces. "I really don't mean to stare. I just..." She looks around and lowers her voice. "It's just a little strange, is all. I've always been a little fascinated by poly-... by certain types of magic. This just lasts so _long_."

He smirks. "Snape is a brilliant potioneer. He didn't spend fifteen years in a classroom teaching potions without picking up a lot of knowledge."

She nods, obviously intrigued. "The voice too... it changes everything. You even had glasses when you were… you know... that first day."

Draco shrugs, having grown a little accustomed to the impressive nature of the polyjuice. "It anticipates. I told you, he's brilliant. More than book learning, Granger, he's clever. Creative. Not just… what do they call you… 'bright'?"

She huffs at that, obviously not appreciating the dig. "You know I'm more than just memorized knowledge, Jack. I can actually think through information."

He smirks at her, enjoying watching her ruffle for some reason. He's actually quite aware, after spending time with her, that's she's more than books, but oh… that irritated red splashed across her nose and her eyes narrowed? She's pretty fucking adorable. "Hit a nerve have I, bookworm?"

She looks at him for a moment before starting to stack up her books and stowing her quill in her bag. "You know, I think that's enough for today. I'm quite sure Harry was heading to Hogsmeade. Perhaps I'll join him."

Inexplicably, a fissure of jealousy well up in his chest at the mention of his old rival. Especially knowing what he does about Granger's _intimate_ past with him. Draco tries to dampen it, to kill that feeling of competition, realizing it makes no sense for a thousand reasons. "What about the project?"

She stops packing long enough to level him with a cold stare. "I'm sure you're brilliant enough to work on your own. After all, I doubt I bring anything to the table you couldn't cleverly find in a book. If you can manage it, that is."

Ouch. He really did strike a nerve.

He hadn't wanted this; her intruding on his solitude. He had accepted his lot for the year. Then she swept in and told him she didn't want him to be alone and that she enjoyed his company and that she wanted to be his friend and damned if he didn't get a little swept up in the hope of it. Unfortunately, his fool mouth couldn't hold back from his usual quips, comments he had actually meant playfully, and now she's red-faced with steam and heading toward the library doors.

It only takes a moment of hesitation before he tears after her, leaving his books and paraphernalia out all over the desk.

"Granger, hang on." He calls after her and she just keeps walking with that determined pace she has, eyes forward and head bent down.

"Granger, stop!" Draco catches her and reaches for her arm which she wrenches away. It does manage to halt her though.

"Don't touch me. Just leave me alone." There is fire burning in her eyes and he falters just a little.

"Come on, it was just a joke. Don't you think you're overreacting?"

Those flaming eyes narrow and somewhere Draco hears an echo of his mother telling him when he was young, " _Never tell a lady she has no right to her feelings, little dragon_." He swallows, nervous.

"Overreacting?! Three sessions, _Jack_." His name carries dangerous sarcasm. "Three study sessions and you couldn't make it without taking a jab at me. If I wanted this I'd just subject myself to Ron."

His hackles rise, partially at being compared to a Weasley, and he's on the defensive. She makes it sound as if he had a choice in this. He might have started to enjoy the idea of letting her in a little, but she most definitely forced it upon him. "I didn't want to study with you at all if you recall! You weaseled your way into my life-"

"Was that supposed to be a pun?!"

"What the fuck?..." What the hell does she even mean?

Oh, Weasel.

"No! Merlin's Flaccid Cock, you are sensitive. It was one little comment, Granger. I know you've heard worse."

"I just… I _have_ … I just thought…" The fire is dying to a low ember and he sees her slump. "I thought maybe you might want to be my friend. You seemed to enjoy spending time with me as H-… that first day. Then you were so… quiet and weird the last two days and now, today…I've obviously misjudged the situation. Pretty typical for me," she ends with a mutter.

Draco has a choice to make here and he knows it. He can sneer and let her walk away and go back to the way things were before (isn't that exactly what he keeps saying he wanted?), or he can apologize. Draco fucking hates to apologize…

"Look, Granger... I'm sorry, alright?" He tries to think of something more but this much humility is painfully hard as is. He looks at her with what he hopes seems an earnest expression and watches her face.

She chews her lip and looks away, pondering in silence, before she grouses, conceding, "I suppose I might have taken it a bit too seriously."

Draco starts to grin and can't help, "You mean… overreacted a little?"

Her gaze shoots back to his with annoyance but less heat than before and he offers her a wide grin. Her lips try to pull up as well but she's fighting it. "Don't worry," he assures her. "I won't tell anyone you admitted a flaw."

It's a risk, continuing their banter, but if they really are to be friends, she's going to have to accept him for who he is. His sarcastic humor is as much a part of him as his gentlemanly manners and his newfound self-disgust. Internally, there is a wave of relief when she finally gives up and smirks back. "I won't tell anyone you apologized then, either. It was obviously hard for you. Or that you drool in your sleep."

"Wait, I what?"

"You dozed off at the library the other day and I saw you wipe your mouth when you startled awake. Like I said, your secret is safe with me. Any secrets; as many as you'd like to share."

He recognizes the promise through the banter and nods. "Can we finish this blasted project now? I have some pre-scheduled brooding to do this evening and hate to change my plans."

She laughs and takes his arm, physically leading him back to the library. Looking down at her, smile on her face, feeling her small hand wrapped delicately around his arm, he knows he might be in a bit of trouble here.

She said she wanted to be friends, but Draco is a bit concerned he might end up wanting more than that.

XXXXXXXXX

Two weeks pass and Hermione spends more and more time with her new friend. Harry was worried at first, of course. Jack is a mystery and Harry Potter has an innate mistrust of mystery.

"I mean, what do you really know about him? His family? Anything? He just…popped up our final year. Strange, if you ask me."

"Well, we're fortunate I hadn't asked," she says primly. "Harry, I know enough. He has family that he doesn't see a lot right now. His father's ties in the war were not ideal. But Jack's not like his father. Not anymore at least."

Harry hadn't said much more after that. He seemed satisfied in Hermione's ability to fend for herself. Ron has a canary peck blemish that proves it. And of course since her time with Harry has been dramatically reduced this year, busy as he is with Ron and Quidditch and various other distractions, he has few opportunities to badger her further.

Hermione found an empty classroom near some still-untouched battle damage and it is here she has taken Jack to study and work on their projects. The privacy has let him, the real him, seep through. They talk almost like they had the first day when she thought he was Harry. She can't believe how much she misjudged him over the years. Of course, he hadn't given her much to work with, but now, without Crabbe and Malfoy to hold him back, to make him feel obligated to bully other students, he's this amazing multi-faceted man. Clever and funny and, yes, he can be sarcastic and difficult, but the more she knows him the more she realizes there is an endearing quality beneath it all.

"I'm glad you came back," she says shyly one day. Jack has his head bent over a small cauldron. They have moved to doing Potions assignments together as well as Runes. Not partnered, just voluntarily.

He looks back with that flop of dark hair in his eyes. She knows her tone is more than conversational and a part of her hopes he notices. From the look in his eyes, she thinks he does.

His own expression softens and he says with serious intensity, "Me too."

Shaking his head, he seems to want to cast off the heavy tone and go back to the lightness they usually know between them. "Of course the alternative was never a great choice."

She's curious. They don't talk about _him_ much. Beyond his interests of course or other casual fare. It seems he's willing to finally open up a bit more. "What was the other choice?"

He surprises her with a bark of laughter. "Azkaban, probably. You think that's not where they wanted me to go? Or, then at least house arrest like my father." He's quiet and keeps stirring and then finally, "Snape spoke for me. Told them I was underage and indoctrinated. Threatened even. Ten years ago that might not have mattered but now I think even Potter is in the running against Snape for biggest war-time hero."

She laughs a little in agreement. She hated to admit it, cruel by nature as he is, but Severus Snape is owed every accolade.

She supposes it makes sense Goyle senior is also under house arrest like Lucius and Draco Malfoy. She would have assumed Azkaban but if one snake can slither through the cracks, she's sure the Goyles had enough clout to do so as well.

She is watching him again. She does it often, trying to see another man in the face before her. She keeps reminding herself that "Jack" isn't a person that matters. She never wants to get caught up in what he looks like. That wouldn't be fair to either of them.

He looks up to find her studying him and she blushes, looking away.

"Well, this batch is finished." Looking over, he is bottling their potion to present to Snape. She notices, but surely not, that his own cheeks seem a little pink.

"Thanks for doing the stirring," she offers. "That part is quite tedious to me."

"I like it. I find it calming."

She smiles. "Well then I'd say we're a good team."

They pack up their supplies and Hermione shrinks them into a small satchel that they stow in the corner of the room, agreeing to meet again tomorrow to begin their next brew.

Standing by the door, he looks down at her and the expression on his face is different. He's eyeing her closely when he says, "Thank you."

She assumes he means helping on the potions. He had never seemed proficient but then again, he was always paired with Crabbe. The more time she spends with him the more sure she is Crabbe was drastically holding him back.

"Oh you're welcome! You really are a good partner."

He shakes his head and steps just a hair closer. "No, I mean, thank you for… everything. Keeping my secret. Being here… with me."

She blushes again but holds his gaze as bravely as she can. "I enjoy being here. Spending time with you. You don't ever have to thank me for that."

Eyes never leaving her gaze, he leans in and she lets him. His lips are suddenly against hers and he kisses her, achingly soft, against the corner of her mouth. She lets her eyes flutter closed and then she is only feeling and listening. "Thank you," he whispers again, his mouth barely touching hers.

When she opens her eyes, he's already walking away. Hermione watches with two fingers delicately touching her lips, affection spreading through her like a fever, and she knows she's in trouble.

Harry's going to have kittens: She's falling for Gregory bloody Goyle.

 **A/N**

 **You're all wonderful! Every one of you! I'm so thrilled with how many of you are following and fave-ing and leaving comments. A little glimpse here from both of their perspectives as they get to know each other without the shackles of their shared past. I look forward to hearing your thoughts!**


	10. Chapter 10

"You should stir less. It won't thicken as much and the aconite won't fight binding with the venom."

Hermione looks down at her cauldron with a questioning frown. She wanted Greg-…. Jack… to be himself with her, to be open and honest and sincere, but she's not too keen on being corrected academically by him, regardless of who he is. Two weeks of working together on Runes and then another two on Potions, seems to have progressed him all the way into a completely casual comfort.

"This is the way the book instructs," she counters a little defensively.

He looks at her with a little amusement in his eyes. "Didn't you learn anything from watching Potter in sixth year?"

She scrunches her brow in even deeper annoyance and asks, "Oh, you mean that he was clearly cheating his way through class with Professor Snape's notes? What exactly was I meant to have learned?"

He smiles now, broadly, and Hermione is frustrated by the all too familiar flutter in her chest. It's happening far too often now as she realizes just how much she enjoys her time with the Slytherin git.

"No, Granger. About potions. There's a lot of brain involved in this, sure, but potions is an art. You can put a little of your heart in and improve even the most perfect textbook results. Like cooking."

She mutters back, "I'm not terribly good in the kitchen."

Now he laughs and the flutter increases and she wants to be angry that he is laughing at her but damned if he doesn't just look so much better when he's free like this. She tries to imagine Greg Goyle laughing heartily with no cruel undertone. It's a frequent exercise on her part and over the weeks she is finding it easier to see past what he looks like to the boy he really is, deep down in his bones. "No I'd guess you're probably not," he agrees through his amusement.

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" She asks, fighting a grin, charmed by his sincere laugh.

"I bet you could follow a recipe to the letter, down to the last grain of salt, and somehow it not be quite right."

"That's about right," she concedes. "My Mother... she's a wonderful cook. Or was. Still is I can assume..." She rushes past the hitch in her throat, "Anyway, she's very talented. Throws together amazing dishes with no instruction at all."

"Instinct," he says, more pensively than seems necessary.

"Exactly. Like she knows when you need just a little more water even if the recipe only calls for one cup and you've already added more than that. Or just what a 'pinch' of anything is supposed to be."

She felt herself trip, verbally, at the mention of her mother, but is proud to have made it through without much hesitation. Jack is quiet now and it starts to make her uncomfortable.

"Do you..." he finally starts. "Would you ever want to talk about them?"

Hermione looks over at him in surprise. He's looking away, like he's embarrassed to have asked and she feels an immediate desire to put him at ease, peppered with fond gratitude for his gesture.

"I appreciate that... I don't really like to talk about them much. You've probably noticed." He nods at that and she goes on, "Probably not terribly healthy, either. Maybe it would be nice. Not right now, but maybe someday?" She chews her lip and considers further.

"Don't think so much about it. If you want to, you can. I'm just putting it out there. If not, that's fine."

It's a nice offer, if presented a little curt. No pressure, no demands. She thanks him for it softly.

They work in silence from then until the end of their allotted time. As they are putting away their cleaned cauldron and spare ingredients, Jack surprises her when he ventures, "You know I have that assignment in Transfiguration for the end of term. Have you started yours?"

She looks over at him and answers, not sure why he's asking. "Yes. I started the day we received the assignment. I've not finished yet though. I have it scheduled for an hour every Wednesday and again on Friday afternoon."

"You schedule your homework-" He starts to ask and then cuts himself off, answering back, "Of course you do." He sounds bemused and she's not as offended as she might have once been weeks ago. "Would you mind if I joined you Wednesday? Maybe take a look and you can compare with mine?"

She grins and she can't help it. The opening is so obvious for a playful retort and she's been skirting around her own sexual tension with him for days. Maybe weeks. "You show me yours, I'll show you mine?"

He nods, perfectly serious, until suddenly he seems to understand. He smirks at her after a moment of subtle shock. "Why, Hermione Granger, are you flirting with me?"

She shrugs and picks up her book satchel, slinging it over her shoulder. "It was an honest question. See you Wednesday."

Head high and a little smirk he can't see, she leaves him there, gaping a little, and awards herself ten points to Gryffindor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco realizes he is monopolizing her time and he absolutely does not care. Hermione is now allowing him in her carefully planned schedule at least eight hours every week, just the two of them.

Monday evening is Runes, right after classes and before dinner. Tuesday and Thursday, she gives him two hours for potions each night. On Wednesday and Friday, they work on Transfiguration for at least an hour, sometimes more. And then, two weeks before the winter holiday, she had asked him if he'd like to have lunch together in Hogsmeade on Saturdays. It used to be her and Harry, she'd explained, but he has been spending an inordinate amount of time with Draco's fellow Slytherin Daphne Greengrass. Secretly, he's thrilled for more than one reason. The obvious being he can spend more time with Hermione. The second is that Draco has a pleasant history with Daphne, more so than most of the girls in his house, and wonders if this will soften Hermione further on a continued relationship with him since Potter seems to be playing in the snake den as well.

She's hinted at it, at the concept of 'them'; flirted more than once. It's all Draco can do some days to keep from throwing himself at her. She's so fucking pretty and sweet and the only person that has ever taken the time to really look at who he is. Not because he's wealthy or from an old family, but because she giggles when he teases her and they debate history with passion and they share a love of fine food and their childhood was full of expectations from parents that are now, for different reasons, not the important factors they once were.

He's opened up to her about his interests and philosophies and opinions in ways he never felt free to before. He explained to her how his blood prejudice had evolved over time.

He journeyed from an indoctrinated, spoiled child, parroting his father's rhetoric, to a stubborn teenager, desperate for approval but struggling with logic, to finally a young man who has seen the evil of man, magic or not, and knows breeding has nothing to do with humanity.

She had listened and asked questions and he had apologized yet again for the way he'd treated her. She forgave him without hesitation; without reservation. She had hugged him that day. A tight, honest, emotional hug and he had clung to her like a buoy on stormy seas.

Tonight is their last night before everyone returns home for the holidays. He has no choice really. He has to go home or his father would never forgive him. (Though his father's forgiveness is not quite the motivation it would once have been.) He told Hermione as much but really he just wants to spend the break with her.

"I don't like this. You being alone for Christmas. It's not right."

She gives him a sad smile. "You need to go home. You know you do. Your father… well he may not think much of someone like me and I don't have any love for him necessarily, but he's your father. And he's stuck at home so he can't come to you. You should be there."

He nods, knowing it's true. But Hermione doesn't have anyone waiting for her at home. Just an empty house, deed now in her name, and her parents legally dead. She's planning to go home to take care of anything relating to the property. No one else is staying at the school anyway.

"You won't spend Christmas morning alone will you?" He asks hesitantly. "A relative or… something?"

She shakes her head 'no' and he waits for clarification. "Arthur and Molly asked me to join them. I'm just not sure if I want to, is all. I might rather be alone than sit awkwardly with the family who's still miffed I won't be joining them. You don't just date a Weasley," she explains. "You get the whole family. I mean, technically Ron broke it off but I get the blame for not being devastated by it. They'd really hate me if they knew how relieved I actually was. As for relatives, I don't really have any. Both my parents were only children and my grandparents have all passed. I've a great aunt but haven't seen her since I was eight."

"What about Potter?"

"He's going to the Weasleys. He thought he could stomach being around Ginny since Molly adores him so much. It's harder for me. Molly is… protective of Ron, being her youngest boy."

Draco grins. "The baby of the family. That explains a lot."

Hermione laughs. "Ginny is technically. The baby. But Molly has this odd affection for Harry. If it came down to it, I'm not sure she wouldn't choose his side over her own children."

Secretly, Draco thinks it complete rubbish that Potter would let Hermione even consider being alone. He starts to think if it were him, he would say 'fuck you' to the Weasleys and visit Hermione at her muggle home. Then Draco has enough self-awareness to realize he has that nearly _exact choice_ as well, but is letting her demand that he honor his parents instead. She probably did the same to Potter.

"I have something for you."

Draco perks up. She has a gift for him? That's perfect because, she doesn't know it yet, but he has something for her as well. "Do tell."

With what can only be nervousness, she reaches into her bag and pulls out a gift wrapped in silver and gold paper; a fitting tribute to both of their houses without being obvious. He watches as she enlarges it until it is larger than a copy of Hogwarts: A History. He hopes to Merlin she didn't buy him that. He knows she loves it but for Salazar's sake he already has three copies in the manor library.

"Do I open it now or on Christmas?"

She bites her lip. "Now, actually. So I can explain it."

Well that's doubly intriguing. He carefully removes the bow and tucks it in his trouser pocket. Draco is a sentimental sort. He plans to keep the bow in a small box on his desk at home. A momento of his first and possibly only gift from Hermione Granger.

Under the wrapping is a box with a lid. Removing it he finds an array of various things his mother would probably call 'bric-a-brac' with mild disdain. Draco, on the other hand, is fascinated. "What is it?"

He watches the blush on her cheeks deepen and she can't meet his eye. "When I was nine, I had an assignment at my school. We were to pretend life from another planet…yes I know it's silly," she says to his confused look. "Anyway, we were to give them a package of items to explain what humans and the earth are all about. You're not from another planet but sometimes I almost forget we are from different worlds. But I... I feel like maybe you'd like to learn a little about mine. About... me."

She's so nervous and adorable and Draco is thumbing through strange parchments and odd packages of what looks like food and even a couple of books and he's overwhelmed by her.

Carefully, he sets the box on the floor. She looks at him with anticipation and a little concern and he doesn't want her to think he doesn't like; Imagines she is afraid he will reject it. Reject the muggle world. Reject _her_.

Stepping into her space, he places both hands on the sides of her face, locking his gaze with hers and then he kisses her. He breathes deep, lips pressed against hers and his arms shaking. This is no careful brush of lips or friendly hug that can be accused as platonic. He cups her face with more pressure and pulls her closer and his tongues sweeps carefully against the seam of her lips.

She responds with so much enthusiasm he nearly stumbles backwards. Hermione lets her lips part as her arms reach around his neck and pull his face down closer to her. Her chest rises to press against his, filling with her breath and soft against his frame.

He lets his hands drop from her face so he can wrap his arms tightly around her waist. Secured around her, he pulls her even closer until she is flush against him and he is nearly lifting her from the ground. He can't tell for sure, eyes closed as they are, but he imagines she might have her leg popped like a romantic heroine.

He kisses her for as long as she will let him and then some. He is vaguely aware she is pushing lightly against his shoulders to separate them and finally relaxes his arms and pulls his lips away from hers. Final light nips taper off the kiss and then he is standing with his forehead pressed against hers, breathing hard and looking into her beautiful amber eyes.

Realizing he never said anything about the gift he tells her, "I want to know everything about you. About where you're from as it relates to you. I want as much of you as I can have."

She smiles shyly, looking up and playing softly with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'll miss you this week," she admits. "I see you nearly every day. What will I do without you?"

Leaning down to land one last soft kiss, he says, "I have something for you too."

Draco pulls away from her and goes to his own bag. First he places the lid back on the box she gave him and carefully slides it inside. He's honestly looking forward to looking at each item within. Then he pulls out his own package, wrapped in green and red, and approaches her.

He hands it to her without explanation and rocks on his heels. She smiles as she takes it, tracing her name where he wrote it on an intricately embossed white tag. "Hermione," she says, reading aloud.

Draco shrugs. "I didn't think marking it 'to Granger' felt right anymore. I like your name…."

Her lips part lightly and he can see something like adoration soften her eyes. He knows he made the right choice and decides he can call her by her given name from now on. He thinks a lot of things have changed today.

As he's pondering, she is beginning to open the gift, that soft blush still splashed across her cheeks. Inside, she finds a velvet box and he sees her stiffen.

"Jack…"

He tries to ignore the disappointment he feels at her silent protest and says with as much humour as he can muster, "I'm not proposing, if that's what you think."

She looks embarrassed. "I didn't think that…and it's not that I wouldn't… I mean I don't know you that well I just thought… I mean jewelry is just very expensive and you certainly don't need to-"

"Open it, Hermione, don't make such a fuss."

She blushes deeper and looks down again, prying open the lid. What she finds inside changes her face to one of confusion. "A pen? A muggle pen?"

Draco shrugs Jack's shoulders. "Less conspicuous where you'll be over Christmas than a quill. I asked Potter for advice on that."

"You spoke to Harry?"

He grins. "Just this once. For you. He said this design would look mundane enough you could carry it with you."

"Well, yes… I mean it's a very… nice pen." She's still confused and it's a little endearing. Hermione Granger: Know-it- _not-everything_.

"Here, watch." He takes the pen from the case and, from the front pocket of his satchel he retrieves two small books. He opens one and hands her the first page to view. In the other book, he uses the pen to write carefully 'You're not the only one clever at charms'.

The words appear on the book in front of her and vanish once she's read them. Her hand goes to her mouth, covering it and her eyes are wide.

"I didn't like the idea," he says softly, "of you being alone on Christmas."

She looks up at him and tears quickly pool in her eyes. Hermione flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck once more, and crashes her mouth against his. Their kiss, while passionate before, is now full of a promise to take and to give. Draco bends her roughly, his forearms supporting her back as he leans into her.

This time, when they pull away from each other, they allow the barest inch between them and Hermione breathes against his lips. "Will you write me, Jack? While we're away?"

"Of course I will, silly witch. Why do you imagine I charmed the books?"

She nips at him again. Once, twice, but then retreats out of his hold. She tucks a hair behind her ear. "It's almost curfew."

He nods at her and wants to say a thousand things. He settles on, "I floo home in the morning. I imagine you've been offered the same?"

Hermione nods. "Benefit of being a war heroine."

"Or a villain it would seem," he says with a little self-mockery, though his elation at her kisses tempers any real venom.

"I'll see you in two weeks then. Happy Christmas, Jack."

"Happy Christmas, Hermione Granger."

 **A/N**

 **Sorry for the delay! Yesterday was a long day at the office and I didn't want to rush and put this up without a proper edit. I found a couple of doozies on the second read through. Not as bad as my wonton/wanton debacle lol... More of a let's/lets type scenario**

 **So here we have a lot of improvement on their relationship. They are learning, though built on a mistake, how compatible they truly are. Of course, we all knew that, right? :)**

 **So many reviews last chapter! I'm super grateful for them (as you know from the messages I send, but it bears repeating). I love reading your comments, thoughts, and theories. Any questions? Ask in a review, or a PM, or find me on tumblr. Can't wait to read your reviews if you would be so kind. Please do me the honor!**


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione walks slowly through the front door of her parents' home for the first time in months. After the war, she had gone as far as to secure the paperwork into her name and complete the details supporting the story that her parents had tragically died in an accident. A house fire, as it so happens.

The exterior of the home has been charmed to look damaged to any muggles. She didn't quite have the magical chops to hide it completely, as Grimmauld Place, but a few glamours give the appearance of a burned out husk; garden dried and dead and windows boarded. It was the best way she could think to keep the property safe and untouched while she was away, while also perpetuating her lie surrounding their cause of death.

Inside, it's as if she never left. Dust-repelling charms kept the furniture and carpet clean while an automatic flush kept the toilets in working order. The water company probably wonders why a burned out house has a water bill, but no one looks too hard as long as the bills are paid. Similarly, electricity is still available to light the home.

It's eerie, coming back. Her parents' effects are still in their closets and drawers. They had left for Australia with scarcely more than the clothes on their back and a suitcase each. Hermione had transferred their sizable savings accounts to their new location and secured a home for them through not quite magically legal means. It's honestly amazing she wasn't brought up on charges after the war. Obliviation, Confundus, and an illegal portkey are all in her repertoire of offences. It probably helped that the new Minister is the one that provided her the portkey.

Hermione drops her school bag at the front door and strips off her coat. She starts to lay it across the wingback by the entryway and then stops, hearing her mother's voice tell her that there is a reason they have a coatrack and _really, Hermione, there are very few niceties that separate us from the animals_.

She's already near tears as she hangs the coat on her usual hook, the places her parents' outerwear would usually hang are left bare.

Hermione takes a breath and counts to ten, blinking her eyes wide to dry up the moisture that has settled there. She chastises herself that she will never make it through two weeks if she can't handle the most mundane actions in her old home.

By that afternoon she has succumbed, however, to self-pity and spends the entire evening wrapped in her mother's housecoat, watching her father's favorite movie and bawling pitifully into her childhood teddy bear. She falls asleep before she even has supper and wakes before the dawn, a puffy tear-streaked mess.

Before she has her morning shower, hoping it will invigorate her, Hermione digs out the notebook Greg had gifted her and flips it open. She hadn't expected much. He was going home, after all. She is sure he is busy. His words at their parting were sweet and romantic but she doesn't have much luck with the boys in her life always following through when she needs them.

She's wrong and it brings fresh tears but of a very different sort.

 _Make it home alright?_

 _I know you have a lot to do but I'm here if you need to talk_

 _I hope you're well. Getting late so I think I'll turn in. Talk tomorrow?_

 _Goodnight, Hermione. Miss you_

Frantically she searches her bag for the pen case and flips off the cap.

 _ **I'm so sorry, I fell asleep early. I'm sure you're not awake y-**_

Her own message cuts off as she is greeted with his familiar scrawl

 _Morning. Good to hear from you. Was a little worried_

She grins and settles in with her book. She tells him about the overwhelming feeling of coming home yesterday and he does his best to give her support, as best as he can through written word.

 _ **What are you doing today**_ , she asks him finally. The sun is fully up and Hermione stretches as she waits for his answer.

 _Father wants to put up the tree. You probably think the house elves did it but it's one of the few family traditions we always did ourselves. I'll help him choose one and we will bring it back and set it up in the parlour._

 _ **Sounds lovely.**_

She means it, she really does, but it hurts anyway. Decorating the tree had always been a Granger family affair as well. This year, she won't even have one. In fact, Hermione has decided ignoring Christmas all together is probably her best course of action.

 _Maybe we can talk more tonight?_

 _ **I'd like that**_ , she tells him. They say their goodbyes and Hermione makes a choice to shake off her melancholy and get to work. She has two weeks to go through the house, top to bottom, and shed the skin of her past life. She will allow herself a small box of souvenirs but most everything of her parents' will go to charity.

They talk often the next two weeks. Hermione tries to be open about what she is doing each day. She tries to think of it as therapeutic, going through the house and then talking about it with someone she trusts; someone who seems to care about her. Some days are more difficult than others.

On the sixth afternoon, she finds her parents' wedding album and spends an hour eating ice cream and staring at them as they dance and laugh in the still, muggle photos. That night, she tells Greg to talk to her about something else. He regales her with a story about his father taking him on his first broom ride when he was five and how he ended up smashing into the oldest rose bush on their grounds. Scraped up and bruised, it was still a great day because his father, who he thought would be angry about the mangled bush, told him how proud he was that he flew so high the first time.

On the last day, she closes a final box and arranges a local organization to pick it up in the morning before she leaves. She will take the boxes outside to the curb and leave as to avoid questions about the strange house with a burnt façade but oddly pristine items to donate.

After school ends, she plans to live in the house for a while. Eventually, she hopes to lift the charms and employ a realtor to sell it, but she's not there yet. As long as the house remains she has a link to her family. The spell she cast, she's been told by a staff member at St. Mungo's, is likely irreversible having been so hastily done by an untrained witch. But Hermione still likes to imagine the impossible and holds on to a little muggle hope in those impossible dreams.

XXXXXXXXX

Draco is waiting in the corridor outside the rooms belonging to the Headmistress. He came through the floo early, eager to see Hermione. The Express would have already arrived this morning and only those with special floo privilege were instructed to come back at this time.

She'd been obviously upset, his Hermione, during their break and he ached to be with her. An odd sense of protectiveness had overcome him on more than one occasion. It was not what she had said through their parchment conversations, but more what she didn't say. She was reserved on most days, less eager to discuss anything of depth. She gave accounts of her progress with her parents' home like she was writing a shopping list. He would listen intently, offer as much support as possibly, but then try to steer the conversation away from holidays and traditions and keep it on light anecdotes or his more hopeful thoughts on the future. Even on what would await them at Hogwarts.

He kissed his mother this morning just after breakfast and told his parents that really he must get back and prepare for classes the next day. It's a blatant fabrication of course: He is completely up to date in all classes. He just misses his witch.

He is leaned up against the stone wall, scuffing his foot and looking, he's sure, incredibly uncomfortable. A door creaks open and he looks up to see her bushy hair coming toward him. Her curls obscure her face, head tilted down, and she shuffles more than she should. She looks sad and he hates it.

"Hey."

She starts, not having noticed him but her smile is sincere. "Hey."

"I thought I'd see if you wanted to have lunch. Great Hall or Hogsmeade… whatever you feel up to."

Her smile becomes grateful and she takes the hand he offers her. Together they walk toward the Great Hall and, when they reach the grand room, she leads him to the Slytherin table and sits with him. He locks eyes with Potter who is watching them from his own place and Draco raises an eyebrow in question. He watches the other man look at Hermione who smiles at him and waves. Potter waves back and gives "Jack" one last glance before offering up a small smile and going back to his lunch.

"Asking his advice on the pen probably did wonders, you know." He looks over at Hermione as she gives him a pointed look. "He's been nervous you were some secret villain since he doesn't know anything about you."

Draco scoffs, "Funny how close he is to the truth."

She smacks him lightly on the arm and chastises softly, "Stop that. Next time we can sit at the Gryffindor table," she threatens with a grin, "get to know my friends better."

Smiling, Draco slides an arm around Hermione's back and kisses her temple. "I missed you, you infuriating little witch."

She blushes and bites her lip, looking at him shyly as she says, "Missed you too. Thank you, for the pen. For writing me. It really meant a lot to have you there each day."

"I wish I could have seen you instead. I tried to charm a mirror but it seems I'm not top of our class for a reason."

She laughs at that and relaxes against him. Turning her head, she plants a soft kiss on the chiseled bone of his jaw. "After graduation, I'll get you a muggle phone so we can talk anytime."

Draco stiffens but tries not to make his discomfort obvious. They've not talked much of 'after'. After school. After he's not hiding who he is from the world. After people see his face and sneer at him and, likely, judge _her_ for stooping so low.

After the realities of life settle darkness over this beautiful lie they live inside.

His change in posture must have been obvious because she tries to backtrack and pulls her body away. "I mean, you probably wouldn't want anything like that. Some muggle nonsense. You can just, you know, floo me to talk to me. If you even want to of course you don't have to…"

He turns on the bench to face her more and manhandles her into his side once again, fighting against her resistance. "I would be a pretty poor boyfriend if I didn't want every way possible to talk to you wouldn't I?"

Her eyes go wide and dart between his own, searching for an answer to a question she hasn't asked. "Is that what you are? What _we_ are? We hadn't talked about…"

"About that fucking amazing kiss before Christmas? Would you like to open a dialogue about that now?" He smirks at her and brushes his thumb over her lip.

"We don't… I don't think that's necessary," she breathes.

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page then." He watches as she smiles to herself. She looks happy and Draco lets relief wash over him at her easy acceptance.

She's his. Draco Malfoy won Hermione Granger.

If he can do that, even in spite of their terrible history, he thinks the world looks so much brighter.

 **A/N**

 **Closer and closer they become... We've entered into "actual relationship" territory! Too bad silly Hermione still fancies herself Beauty to his Beast**

 **Thank you so much to all of you for your comments up to this point! There are quite a few of you following which is always super exciting... and mildly terrifying lol. I hope you enjoyed this installment and I'm looking forward to hearing from you!**


	12. Chapter 12

January finds Hermione settling into a pleasant routine. Seven years plagued by dark wizards, ambitious schedule demands, and war, leave her hungry for what so many might find mundane, compared.

By the beginning of February, her days have been without incident, save for the increasing closeness she feels with Jack. The study schedule she created has held true, as did the Saturday meals in Hogsmeade. However, they have now added Sunday walks on the grounds, snuggled into each other; warming charm adding to the comfort. She meets him for breakfast and lunch each day in the Great Hall. Usually, she ventures to the Slytherin table, though on a handful of occasions he has braved the lions' den. A strained conversation about Quidditch with Ron was probably the most awkward. Hermione wasn't sure why the redhead in particular seemed to make Greg agitated, but it appears he is the one amongst her friends that is not destined a tight bond with her boyfriend. His conversations with Harry started a bit strained but relatively quickly settled into a familiar casualness.

All in all, he is integrating into her life oddly well. She had expected more difficulties. Perhaps if more of his friends had returned to school there would have been. She's fairly confident the easy acceptance he found with the Gryffindors would not be repeated with his house. She has tried to imagine what it would be like to be civil with Pansy Parkinson or Zabini or Malfoy and is coming up empty. Those fantasies usually end in someone calling her Mudblood and her giving everyone a repeat performance of third year; slapping the snot out of one of them.

It's a particular cold Friday morning in early February when she mentions these thoughts to "Jack". They are at breakfast so she is careful to speak in generalities.

"I'm just saying if you had more friends in your own house, you know, _currently_ , I'm not sure I'd be so welcome over here."

He shrugs. "Not sure they'd really want me over _there_ either," he says, gesturing to the Gryffindor table, "if they knew... more about me."

Hermione considers. Probably it's true, to a degree. Especially with someone like Ron who is very slow to forgive and tenacious with his grudges. Others, though? "I think you'd be surprised by some of them. Not all, but most. I mean, you like Quidditch. That's a great common ground for most of them," she laughs a little and he grins back.

"I don't particularly care either way," he confides. "I mean, I don't want to have an issue with any of your friends, but ultimately they can go hang for all I care. I'm just here for you." There is an intensity in his gaze that makes her swallow hard and she's not sure how to respond.

A quiet settles as she eats a few bites and he joins her after a moment.

"I was wondering," he starts, seeming hesitant, perhaps taking her quiet as rejection, "if I could plan a day for us for Valentine's Day."

Hermione slides a hand over his and caresses her thumb over the back. "I'd love that," she tells him. She forgets how insecure he can be. Struggling with her own confidence in relationships, she makes a note to be careful with the signals she sends. Her own self-consciousness can likely be misread by her sweet and, probably, inexperienced boyfriend.

He seems to relax and wraps his fingers over hers as he smiles at her. She thinks to ask, "Is it a surprise? Or do I get to know what you're planning?"

He scoffs in mock derision. "Surprise, obviously. Don't you muggles know anything about being romantic?"

She starts to protest, defend her heritage, but that boyish smile of his tends to disarm her and she knows he means it in jest, not with any actual prejudice or malice. "Oh we know all about romance. I just didn't know how you Purebloods do things, old fashioned as you are. Do I present my dowry for approval _before_ or _after_ the date?" She counters with a wicked grin and raised eyebrow and he laughs with her and squeezes her hand.

Hermione thinks not for the first time that his polyjuiced persona might be exactly what they needed to make it over some of these hurdles. Looking at Jack's face, a face with no history, she has no flashbacks of the Slytherin boy sneering cruelly from behind Malfoy's back. She doesn't have to try to see through a face she's known as the enemy for so long, to find the mirth or sentiment within his words. He's funny, more than she would have thought. But also, maybe more than she could have accepted from Greg Goyle. She silently thanks Professor Snape for the thousandth time for making this possible; for helping her see someone who is so worth knowing that she might have otherwise missed.

She's looking forward to their holiday together. Though they eat most meals in each other's company and spend most evenings in study sessions, something about this seems more official and she can't wait to take another step.

XXXXXXXX

"Hey, Harry."

Draco is jogging, with as much dignity as one can jog, up to Harry Potter as he exits the Transfiguration room. He's careful to use his first name as is the habit he established as Jack. Weasley is, of course, attached to his hip. Something about that boy, knowing he's had a level of intimacy with Granger, makes Draco's insides boil and his stomach knot. He's not sure just what their shared history entails, but as he becomes more and more infatuated with her, the less he thinks he can stand. Surprising he doesn't have the same animosity for Potter, but perhaps because he knows their relationship was short lived and completely physical, it seems less threatening. Her little crush-turned-young-love with the Weasel makes him much more nervous. "Could I have a moment?"

He watches Potter glance at the redhead who shrugs and says, "Whatever." They are left standing alone in the corridor after the last of the dismissed class has retreated to their next destination.

"How can I help?"

"It's about Gr-Hermione." That's as far as he gets and then he's stuck. Draco thinks he really should have planned this conversation better.

"Yes?" Scarhead prompts.

"This weekend is Valentine's Day."

There is a pause and then the scruffy-haired git gives him the most obnoxious, knowing smile. "So it is." He's certainly not making it any easier on him.

Draco rubs the back of Jack's neck, eyes searching the corridor for assistance that isn't there. "Do you think she'd fancy jewelry? Or is that too much?"

Whatever it was Potter was expecting, that obviously wasn't it. "You want to buy her jewelry?"

"That is traditional," he sneers, channeling some vintage Draco onto a stranger's face.

"No… I mean, yeah, it's traditional. I just didn't realize you were that serious."

Draco makes a face now of confusion. "We spend almost every day together. I'm not sure how much more serious it gets."

"Right… she just gives the impression she doesn't know much about you. Whenever I ask her anything she seems like she doesn't know you that well. I thought maybe your relationship was… more casual."

Obviously Hermione is playing her part well, giving no indication of who he is or where he comes from. Draco should be elated that his secret is safe, but he finds a part of him is annoyed that his claim on the witch doesn't seem to be publicly staked. Pureblood princeling that he is, Draco is a possessive sort, after all.

He decides to shrug in reply and play it off with indifference. "Not much to tell really. I don't have much family and I'm finishing school. There are other things to fill our time," he implies with a quirk of his eyebrow and watches and the other man seems to grimace at the image. Of course he's not actually made it that far with Granger, but he wants to make the intended nature of their relationship very clear.

"Right… sure, she'd like jewelry. What girl doesn't?"

"She's not exactly like other witches," he points out.

"No, she's unique." There's a hint of warning; of big-brother protectiveness behind the statement.

Draco sighs, prepared to concede a little in this battle for dominance. "I just want to do something nice for her. She deserves that, don't you agree?"

He pauses, looking Draco up and down before he says, "Dancing."

Draco blinks.

"Sorry, what?"

"She likes to dance. No one knew until the Yule ball and even then I think everyone just thought Krum was a great lead. Her father taught her at home; parents used to go dancing all the time when they were young." He shrugs and concludes, "Find a way to take her dancing."

Draco racks his brain a little. It's not something the Wizarding world does much outside of formal settings. Oh, his parents used to throw the occasional charity ball of course. The Pureblood girls are presented to society with a formal dance. Dancing in his social circles is obligatory and a mark a good breeding but rarely enjoyed in any grand scope.

But if he thinks on it, he remembers a young Hermione, grinning so wide it nearly split her face as Victor Krum spun her around the room. Draco had danced stiffly with an equally rigid Pansy Parkinson, carefully fulfilling the necessary steps with learned poise. He had sneered at them, Granger and Krum, when they twirled by, her periwinkle skirt swirling her legs and revealing a whisper of skin above the knee. Pansy had snarled in his ear, "Peasants" and he had laughed politely at her jab.

Imagining it now though, holding Hermione's body tight against his own (or what passes as his) and watching her face beam with joy and her skin flush with exertion…

"Perfect. Thanks, Potter." He's so lost in thought as he walks away, he doesn't notice the mild suspicion shadow Harry's face.

 **A/N**

 **200 reviews and not quite 1/2 way through! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I love reading your reviews**

 **A lot of questions about the Marauder's map last chapter. I just wanted to answer vaguely that it will be mentioned later. In about 3 chapters I think**

 **Sorry for the kind of short chapter. I considered combining this with the next but keeping up with the daily schedule, and as late as it already is tonight, I decided to go with this and then hopefully post the next within 24 hours!**

 **He asked Harry for advice... again... Draco must really have it bad :)**


	13. Chapter 13

There was a time, not too long ago in the grand scheme of things, that Draco might have considered the top of the Astronomy tower to be the pinnacle of romantic locations at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, it is forever tainted for him and probably anyone else within their generation. He thinks it's a wonder they haven't disposed of it completely, much as his Mother has renovated most of their manor in a futile attempt to wash away their sins.

The Room of Requirement would have been perfect, once upon a time, but it's little more than a smoldering husk now, and wrapped up in its own terrible memories. It occurs to him, there is not much of this castle that is not likewise tainted by the realities of war.

In the end, Draco asks Hermione to join him for an evening picnic on the grounds, away from prying eyes. He wishes in vain he could do away with the polyjuice for the night. He longs to have her look at his face, meet his own grey eyes with her gaze. But he knows that's folly. It's dangerous to his anonymity, not to mention the niggling doubt in his mind. He knows she's aware of who he really is, but has she really accepted it? _Can_ she really accept it until she sees his face?

He's leading her now, blindfolded, in the soft light of dusk, to where he has already laid out their meal, soft candles preparing them for the inevitable loss of the sun.

"Where in the world are you taking me?" She asks a little breathless, clinging to him as her feet stumble slightly on the uneven ground.

"Almost there, Hermione. Too bad you don't have Quidditch reflexes…"

She huffs at him but he sees her smile nonetheless.

As they approach the blanket spread on the ground, he slows her and says, "We're here. Will you close your eyes for me, Love?"

Pink suffuses her cheeks and she nods, suddenly seeming shy. His use of endearments is few and far between, but she always reacts as an innocent maiden when he does. He adores that side of her almost as much as he covets the brazen Gryffindor that boldly asked him to see to her physical needs months before when she thought him to be Harry.

Carefully, he lifts the scarf from her eyes to find that she has indeed closed her lids. He presses a soft kiss to her temple and murmurs, "Alright, go ahead. Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione."

Her eyes flutter open and immediately light up. "Oh, but this is lovely!" She approaches the spread and drops to her knees near the over-stuffed basket of foods, luxuriating in the warming charm he has surrounding the blanket. "I can't remember the last time I went on a picnic. And no, camping with the boys eating bland fish from a pond does _not_ count," she throws out quickly.

He laughs at that and drops down to her side. "No, I imagine it does not." Draco reaches in to remove various meats, cheeses, fruit, and confections from the basket, laying it out before her.

"How did you even do this?" She wonders aloud. Of course Draco can't exactly tell her he asked the Malfoy elves to assist, difficult as it is for her to accept the purpose of house elves.

Instead he shrugs and says coyly, "I can't reveal all my secrets. How would I hope to surprise you again if you know my tricks?"

"Planning more surprises for me?"

"Well, I have at least one more tonight. After we eat though." There is flutter of hope, a tiny thing, nurtured somewhere in his damaged core, that she seemed to like the idea of more to come; that there was an underlying implication of _more_ and _later_ and _infinite_ to their relationship that Draco had originally assumed to be impossible. His soul soothed and heart pounding, they eat in the wake of a pleasant anticipation, speaking of inconsequential things.

She is dabbing at her lips with a sapphire blue table linen when he stands, offering his hand to help her.

She looks at him in question, slightly bemused by what he assumes to be his obvious nerves. "My next surprise?" She asks.

He nods and flicks his wand at a wireless he ordered for tonight. Soft music fills the air and he drops the wand back to the blanket. "Would you dance with me, Miss Granger?"

A slow smile indicates how pleased she is, even as her eyes turn glassy. "I'm never able to dance…"

"So I've heard," he admits. He doesn't assume there is any harm in divulging he had procured advice from her best friend.

She looks at him in question, cocking her head thoughtfully. "Who?"

Draco grins, lopsided. "Potter. I thought jewelry. That's more how I was raised but I wanted more personal than that. Potter told me you love to dance."

Hermione throws her arms around his neck and then she's kissing him. They've shared quite a few moments in the past few weeks, but there is something a bit more in this. Something desperate for connection. "I love it," she breathes against his mouth.

He nearly shudders, holding her close and feeling her chest rise with quickening breath. Trying hard to maintain his smooth reputation of knowing how to treat a witch, he strokes her cheek with his knuckles. "Shall we then?"

She nods and then they are dancing. Draco is stiff, trying to relax but holding on to the posture and dignity instilled by a governess since he was four. His partner follows him flawlessly and glides in a much more natural way than he can manage.

"Did Harry tell you, where I learned to dance?"

Draco nods. "With your father, he said. Though I have trouble believing you had no formal lessons?"

Hermione shakes her head, smiling up at him. "No formal. But my dad had lessons when he was young so he was really quite good. I wonder if he still knows how…" She trails off and Draco runs his hand soothingly down her back.

"I'm sorry. I don't want this to make you sad-"

"Oh no!" She interrupts quickly. "It doesn't. Well… maybe a little. But it's sort of a good version of sad. Cathartic. I can't live forever pretending my parents never existed. This… I loved this part of them and I want to remember it," she finishes quietly, concentrating on her steps and staring over his shoulder at the darkened horizon.

"Do you know where they are?" It's a risk, continuing the conversation. Draco thinks she needs this though: To think of them. To speak of them.

Hermione nods. "I found them a place to live and made sure they were comfortable financially. Of course they could have moved I suppose, since then, but I don't think that's likely in such a relatively short time."

Draco's bit of courage dries up and he swiftly moves the conversation to lighter fare, asking after her plans for the following week. Baby steps, he thinks. It feels a small victory she was able to mention her parents at all. Best not push too far too fast. He's not sure how serious Hermione is about this relationship in the long term, but if he has his way, he will find out everything about them eventually. He wants to know her and where she's from and what she wants. It occurs to him once again, he's falling hard.

"You need to loosen up," she says finally.

"What do you mean?"

Hermione stops and reaches into her beaded bag, retrieving her wand. She flicks it at the wireless and the music changes to something Draco doesn't recognize. It's fast paced and features heavy percussion and sharp horns. "What is this?"

She grins. "Muggle music. Is that alright?"

Draco nods and she takes his hand. "I lead now. And have _fun_ for Merlin's sake. No one is watching."

"Was I that obvious?" He smiles down at her and as she places his hands where she wants him and starts a simple step pattern with a lot more bounce than that to which he's accustomed.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "You're like a little boy at a recital. I assume it's all that Pureblood propriety leaking through. Let's try it my way."

And he does. And it's glorious. They spend hours, outside in the near dark, lit by candles and twirling to her muggle music. By the end they are exhausted and flushed, breathless and sweating, laughing and holding each other close. She teaches him how the muggles dip and spin and something called the "Spanish Door" and Draco can't remember anything quite so invigorating, quite so exhilarating, as this. (Outside of, possibly, Quidditch and, definitely, the rush he gets from kissing her.)

By half ten they are lying on their backs, completely spent, staring up at a star-filled sky. "We should get back."

He looks over at her and knows she's right. He starts to agree when she quickly adds, "Thank you for this."

Smiling, he disagrees, "I should be thanking you. This is the best night I can remember."

"Well then you're welcome," she grins. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione." They walk back together, hands clasped and Draco's heart sings.

 **A/N**

 **Whew... almost didn't get this posted tonight! Real life kicked my tail today. Hard.**

 **But it's such a fluff chapter I'd hate to miss an update and then only have this to present. I mean, if I'm going to delay it better be the damn reveal amirite? :)**

 **Thank you all for your reviews! And I'm so thrilled to see the favorites and follows on the rise as well. There are lots of you! I hope you enjoyed this little dramione respite. Drama is on the horizon...**


	14. Chapter 14

February finishes in a blur, her final semester at Hogwarts winding up into a crescendo of study and planning.

Hermione is not able to spend as much time alone with Jack as she would like. They have pieced together a physical relationship achingly slow.

He left a mark on her neck once, after a particularly heavy session of licking and panting in a partially hidden alcove. She'd worn it proudly, much to his embarrassment it seemed. He asked her the next day if he'd really done that and she'd given him an adoring smirk.

Another occasion she had reached down to find him straining against his trousers. They were tucked back in the library in relative privacy, but obviously not enough to guarantee they could go further. He had groaned into her neck, as she petted him through the fabric, their laps hidden under the desk, and called her a tease with as much affection as one can muster in such circumstances.

In March, their private time nearly dries up as they are assigned an intense Runes project that involves a third member in their group. It's temporary, but for two weeks nearly all they have between them is looks of longing, held hands, and quick kisses of farewell.

During that time, they also become closer still. Hermione finally opens up more about her parents, giving him more detail about her choice to Obliviate herself from their minds. He's incredibly supportive and says over and over how very sorry he is; for all of it. For the war. For Voldemort. For his Father and his friends and everything she had to bear that she didn't deserve. Mostly he tells her again and again how sorry he is for the way he had behaved and believed.

"You're beautiful," he says one early March morning. "I'm so sorry you were ever told otherwise." She assumes he's alluding to Malfoy and Greg's guilt by association. She tells him she doesn't care. She only cares what he thinks now. He tells her again and again, whispered against her skin, muttered when he thinks she can't hear. She starts to believe that he means it.

"I've never known anyone like you," he tells her on a quiet Monday night, just after the Runes project completed. She could bristle, if she didn't know how he meant it. She's not a Pureblood, he could mean. She's not from an old family and a magic background and Wizarding society. But that's not what he means and she blushes and tells him she's never known anyone like him either: Says she's so happy she was able to know him and how much richer her life is for it.

In April, Hermione has waited longer than she wanted to. An opportunity arises, and she takes it. McGonagall is leaving Hogwarts for the day. A Hogsmeade weekend has most of the student populace out of the castle. Most importantly, Professor Snape has asked Greg to keep an eye on his own polyjuice batch, in Snape's private potions lab, while he attends to matters at the Ministry. She finally has him alone with very little chance for intrusion.

She finds him sitting next to a cauldron with his feet propped on a desk in Snape's private chamber. Hermione locks the door behind her as she comes in and doesn't hesitate to climb onto her boyfriend's lap, laying a seductive kiss on his pouty lower lip.

He kisses back immediately and groans when she grinds down into him, much like she had when she thought he was someone else. He kisses her hard, reaching up her back to cup his hands over her shoulders, pressing her body down against his own. When he pulls back, he is breathing heavily but finds the energy to quip, "Still have that itch you need scratched?"

She laughs a little, looking down into his face, loving that he remembers the words she spoke to "Harry" months ago.

"I do. Volunteering?"

He pulls her close, stroking his thumb over her cheek with so much affection it makes her melt, and she's trying to see _his_ face through the disguise. When this is all over and he's Greg, will she feel the same? She's never considered herself a shallow person but it's undeniable that "Jack" is terribly handsome. Can she imagine being here with Greg's burly arms wrapped around her?

Yes, she has decided… has been deciding. She struggled for a long time, not necessarily minding that they wait for this moment in their relationship until she was sure.

She knows who he is, in his most true form, and he is everything she wants.

Seeming to read her thoughts, he pulls away and says, "Is it alright really? That I'm… me. Tell me you can see me through this," he begs.

"I see you," she assures nodding, her forehead pressed against him. "You're you. Just you."

He groans in something like relief and heavy with desire and Hermione kisses him again, boldly pressing through his lips with her tongue, her hands gripping the sides of his face as she grinds down harder into his lap.

They are alone. Completely private and in the most intimate of circumstances. She can't call him Jack here. It doesn't feel right for either of them, for what they are about to do. If they are alone enough for sex surely they are alone enough she doesn't need to pretend…

He's slowly unbuttoning her blouse and she feels his hands lay over the lace covering her breasts. She moans as his thumb softly brushes over the peak, his mouth suckling a line of open kisses from her neck to the top of her mounds.

"Hnngh… Greg, that's so good…"

"Greg?"

The world stops spinning and Hermione opens her eyes to find a very irate "Jack" glaring at her. His delicious hands no longer touching her at all. "Who the fuck is Greg?"

"I… I'm sorry. Jack, of course. I –"

"No, answer the question, Hermione. Who is Greg?"

He's a little frightening and Hermione starts to get concerned. She doesn't understand his abrupt response and is trying to reason through it at break-neck speed.

Has he lost himself so much in the playacting of it all?

She had promised to keep his secret, to refer to him as Jack: Is he angry she broke that promise, even just between them?

"It didn't feel right… calling you Jack. But I'm really sorry. I promise, I'll stick with that, even in private."

"What the… Then why Greg? Why not something else?"

"Do you… what do you want me to call you?" She's confused now. She is scrambling off his lap just as he is pushing her away and then they are standing, staring at each other across a great divide.

"Well my name would be nice, if you insist on deviating from script."

Hermione screws up her brow and tilts her head. She's now completely baffled. "Your name… I don't understand. Would you… do you want me to call you Goyle?"

"What the fuck?… No! I don't want you to call me fucking Goyle. What kind of a question is that?!"

"Well what then?" She asks back, growing a little heated herself.

"How about my actual fucking name. Do you want me to call _you_ Luna!? Or… or Ginny!?"

"Oh my God, of course not."

"Well then don't call me fucking Goyle!"

"What does that have to do with anything?!" She stops and pinches the bridge of her nose. She realizes then her shirt is still undone and she's in a very vulnerable position to be having a heated debate. "Jack, I'm sorry. I know I promised I'd never use your real name. I just didn't think it felt right to use something else if we were about to… you know."

He's looking at her now with a confused and horrified expression and she starts to do up the buttons of her shirt.

"Who do you think I am?" He asks her quietly and something in his face is heartbreaking.

She doesn't understand what he wants from her. To be assured she will keep her word? "Jack," she says with certainty. "You're Jack and I'm sor-"

"No. Who do you think I _really_ am?" He takes a step closer now looking more broken by the moment.

"I can't. I promised."

"This isn't a trick, Hermione. It's just us. I want to hear you say it. Please. Say my real name, just once."

Hermione is staring back with wide eyes, trying to figure out his game. She said his name and he completely lost his mind. Now he wants to hear it again? _Begging_ to hear it again? She looks at Jack's handsome face and sees the weeks they've spent together, feels a flush of returned affection for him.

With a small smile and love in her eyes she says, "Greg. Greg Goyle."

Suddenly his pleading eyes turn hard and "Jack's" face falls apart as he takes a step back. He looks like he could either punch the wall or weep and then he says simply and with finality, "I don't want to see you anymore."

"What?!" She sees him grab his books and start out the door and Hermione chases after him. "Wait, please! You begged me to say it. Please, don't…" Her own eyes are starting to flood with tears and she tugs at his arm, trying to keep him from leaving.

He's shaking his head in disgust and then twists his arm out of her grip. "I thought you knew me."

"I do-"

"No. You fucking don't, Granger." Her surname is a knife in her heart, he hasn't used in weeks, and the pain of it allows him to stomp away without any efforts on her part to stop him.

 **A/N**

 **Well, you asked for it :D**

 **I'm so thrilled by all of your reviews! I must apologize for many of my review replies being a bit short today. It was a long day at the office and I wanted to get to this chapter! But thank you to all of you! Anons/Rain included as always :)**

 **I'm bracing myself, hoping the beginning of the reveal lived up to your expectations. I know all questions aren't answered yet, but now Hermione, who has been notoriously NOT looking at clues, will start thinking a bit harder.**


	15. Chapter 15

Goyle.

 _She_ thinks… the love of his life believes… that he is Gregory _fucking_ Goyle.

He hadn't told her yet, how completely he'd fallen. When she'd crawled in his lap and looked at him with hooded eyes, he'd imagined their entire afternoon in a blink. Her body of course was an immediate thought. He had felt her grind down on him and groaned in approval and anticipated seeing more of her skin. He'd given himself over to her kisses as he touched her softly and nuzzled her neck. He imagined her writing and sweating and pleading but then, in his mind, he was also worshiping and adoring and loving every inch of her as she deserved. Loving _her_ … as he has for what feels like his whole life.

Every day with her was like oxygen to a drowning man. Warm sun in endless winter. He craved her presence and luxuriated in her smile, so freely given. He let himself want her with reckless fucking abandon and she thinks he is Gods- be-damned _Goyle_.

Goyle: That lumbering monster of a boy. The boy who used to sit in their common room and trade wagers with Crabbe about what the Dark Lord would let them do to her after the war. They'd drawn straws, the bastards, of which muggleborns they would request for their own use if they won enough favour. Goyle's first pick was Granger. He had claimed her like she was the biggest piece of cake and then proceeded to fantasize about all the things he would do to break her. To teach her a muggle's _proper place_.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is who Granger pictures while she kisses him. That cruel, pudgy face is who she whispered once she'd like to see when she wakes. That disgusting creature is her pick to be the next in her string of ill-chosen bed partners.

Draco is hurt and devastated and angry… so angry. How could she be that stupid? How could she think that he could be remotely similar to _that_?

She said she narrowed it down. Put all of the candidates, everyone from their year into her swotty little notebook and chose the most plausible fucking option. _Goyle_ is her most plausible fucking option. A boy who she says is deeper than she knew and more sensitive than he seemed and is wholly redeemed and good and someone she wants and it's _not Draco._

Could apparently _never_ have been Draco.

He shuts himself in his private room for the rest of the day and skips classes the next. He can't face her. He can't hear her songbird voice ask him 'why'. Why did you leave? Why are you angry? He can already hear it and he can't face it.

The second day he misses classes, his godfather comes 'round with his next batch of vials and some intrusive questions. He starts by telling him how disappointed he was to find the potion unsupervised the previous day, but that Draco is lucky it was nearly complete.

"Are you not feeling well?" He can tell Snape knows better but appreciates him giving him even the semblance of reasonable doubt.

"I just needed a break."

"Could this have anything to do with the inordinate amount of time you have been spending Miss Granger and the expression like that of an oft kicked puppy now settled on her face?"

He shrugs like a misbehaved child and won't meet his eyes.

"What did you do?"

Draco looks up at him completely incredulous and spits, "Nothing. I've not done anything. Why assume it's something I've done?"

Severus smirks. "So it _is_ about her then. Thank you for the confirmation."

Draco groans and flops onto the edge of his bed. "Just leave it alright. It's nothing to worry about any more."

"Anymore? Have you suspended your unlikely friendship permanently?"

Draco nods and stares as his feet. "Yes. Better this way. When term ends, Jack disappears forever. No questions now. Nice and neat."

Snape surprise him by laughing. "No questions? You think that one won't hound you until you either fix what you've done or respond to her? It's an interesting thing, being in the position to spy for the bulk of your adult life. You notice… things. Details that might escape your peers. That one, will never leave this alone, whatever this is."

Draco screws up his face in response and admits, "I know. I was just hoping if I was gone a couple of days she might lose a bit of her tenacity."

Snape shakes his head and claps a hand on Draco's shoulder. "In my experience, women do not tend to lose their tenacity toward the men in their life on anyone's terms but their own."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus is walking away from Jack's rooms and toward his own chambers when he has the utmost misfortune of nearly colliding with the bushy-haired little witch of their recent conversation.

"Oh, Professor, good. I was hoping to come across you. I thought perhaps you were coming from… that I'd find you here. Can I speak with you a moment?"

It takes all the energy at his disposal not to roll his eyes at her jabbering cadence and nods curtly. "If you must."

"I just… it's about Jack, sir."

"Indeed." He gives away nothing in his expression and she seems to falter at his lack of response. Transparent Gryffindor…

"I… is he alright? He's not been to class and I thought maybe, as his head of house, you might know how he is?"

"I suppose I can attribute your interest to your Head position rather than your incessant need to know everything, regardless of how little it is your concern?" He doesn't wait for a response to his rhetorical jab and continues on. "He is well enough and should be present for his classes soon. If you will excuse me."

He starts to glide around her, cloak billowing, when she clears her throat and continues to his back. "Is he still upset with me?" He doesn't even try to stop his eyes from rolling, lids fluttering in exasperation, before he turns to address her question.

"And what is it you have done to upset him, Miss Granger?"

She begins that awful habit of chewing on her lip. He starts to mention unkindly that her mother might have taught her better before he remembers the current circumstances of her family and refrains. "I'm not sure. I…" She looks around carefully and then steps closer. He remembers a frizzy haired little girl that used to flinch from him in class and realizes how much everything has changed in just a few years. "I know that he's... I mean I found out he's not… you know… Jack."

Severus knew something had happened to cause their, first, friendship and, now, rift but he is surprised at how careless Draco must have been to allow this to have happened. He rightly assumes, "I suppose his little performance as Potter months ago was not as convincing as he'd thought?"

She smiles a little and nods her confirmation. "He tried, really. But I've known Harry quite well for many years. It was a valiant effort on his part but ultimately he had too much stacked against him."

He allows a gruff chuckle at that. "And yet you sought him out for friendship?"

Hermione shrugs. "When I wasn't sure who he was really… I had a very enjoyable afternoon. I decided if that's who he really is, what he's like, and he'd be willing to get to know me, I'd like to get to know him."

"And this current state that has left him holed up in his rooms? He was not forthcoming. Perhaps you will enlighten me as to what transpired between you."

"Honestly, sir, I'm a little confused. I called him by his name. I had promised I wouldn't, in case anyone heard us talking but I was sure we were… um… that no one was around." The professor is positive her cheeks are going pink and he takes a breath to chase away the unwanted imagery.

He closes his eyes and gestures, rolling his wrist, for her to please get on with it.

"I didn't forget or anything," she says now, quickly, equally ready to move on. "I just thought it might be nice. That he might want to hear his real name for once. It can't be easy, hiding all the time."

"Perhaps, Miss Granger, it was you in particular using his name, forcing him to confront the reality of your shared past, that made it hard for him to hear. Have you considered that?" He is mildly condescending though there is an element of actual assistance offered.

"Unfortunately, not until _after_ I'd already done it."

"That is indicative of why you were sorted as a lion rather than Ravenclaw. Being forthright is often at odds with being clever."

She offers a grin that's a little wry and agrees, "yes, sir. I suppose that's true enough." She sobers and goes on, "I really stopped you because I wanted to see if he is alright. I mean, he doesn't seem to have anyone else. Even if he's angry at me, I still consider him someone I care about. I'm glad he has you at least."

"Believe me, I would not be going through such inconveniences if he were not my Godson, regardless of any promises his mother might have wrenched out of me."

"Is he?"

Snape is surprised by that. "I was under the impression it was relatively common knowledge. Especially after the events at the top of the Astronomy tower. Regardless, it is the case and I will continue to see to his needs."

She seems suddenly thoughtful, a little far away, and so he says, "If there is nothing else then?"

"Oh… yes. Sorry, just thinking of something. That's all. Thank you, Professor, good evening."

He walks away then, not noticing the furrowed look of her brow or the glint in her eye of a Hermione Granger in deep consideration. Ron Weasley would refer to that look as scary.

 **A/N**

 **Phew... almost didn't get this posted tonight. Please forgive any rough patches. This had about 1 less round of edit than usual. But it's been a long day and I'm just done...**

 **Thank you SO much for all the reviews! I'm so pleased you seemed to enjoy the circumstances of the reveal. I'm thrilled with all of your comments and can't thank you enough!**


	16. Chapter 16

Hermione can't imagine how she missed it; how she had been so blind.

Malfoy. Jack is Draco Malfoy.

Snape, of course, doesn't realize he gave anything away, sure as she pretended as to the identity. She had been digging, after all.

Going over their fight in her mind, she was terribly afraid she knew exactly why he was angry, just needed a little nudge as confirmation. And of course, the proper identity beneath his façade. Which she had also started to suspect…

She played back through all the interactions over the past months. References to Slytherin and Jack always being at odds with the Golden Trio. Even mentions of how little choice he had, always living up to someone else's demands. The difference is, she now realizes, is that he was speaking of his father, or perhaps the Dark Lord. Unfortunately she had often imagined he meant Draco himself, assuming Malfoy had often pushed Greg Goyle into his mock servitude.

Hermione spent so much time with Jack trying to imagine Goyle's face. She had created in her mind a boy that doesn't exist. Large and scowling and scary, she started to see a gentle soul hiding behind brawn. She remembered Hagrid, big as life and yet the grandest emotional pussycat she's ever known. She remembers a stolen kiss from the brawny Viktor Krum after he admitted to a deep love of poetry in his mother tongue, rivaling his passion for Quidditch.

 _Her_ Goyle was a caricature. An archetype. The large man with a soft heart. The seemingly violent beast who only wants to be loved. Knowing him so little before, she filled in all the vast missing pieces with her own fantasy and created a misunderstood giant, as desperate for completion as she was so that they might find it together.

And now she has put it all together and realized how foolish she was in the beginning. All the quips and snarks she had thought were clever and funny, she can hear now from thin pale lips and knows she would have hated him if she'd known. Would have always been offended by his jabs and, most likely, would have responded in kind with her own cruelty.

Hermione might have more emotional range than that with which she accuses Ron, but she knows full well she struggles with the human condition. Facts and figures, she's always said, she understands. Now she second guesses every moment with the boy she thought she knew; thought maybe she loved. The effect of which is an odd concoction of guilt and betrayal; rare bedfellows indeed.

How could Draco Malfoy dare to speak with her so familiarly? How could he think she would want to know him, after everything he has done? She's not completely unsympathetic. She realizes, now especially, but even before these past months, that he was forced into much of what he had to do. Even still, no one forced him to enlarge her teeth or call her a mudblood or wish for the Chamber to swallow her up. Maybe he was young and ignorant and indoctrinated but he still did it. And now he wants to talk to her? To befriend her and spend time with her and know her deepest secrets and kiss her…

And oh, how he had kissed her… and told her things about himself as well. _Revealed_ himself to her with no fences, no pretense. He told her she was beautiful and he was sorry and thanked her for being with him. All the while she had been imagining him as someone else. She promised she saw him, the real him, and he melted against her in want and relief and she held on to him like she could repair the damage done during a war.

She had called him Greg. The guilt comes, on the tails of the betrayal. She told this man who she adores she thought he was someone else. He had kissed her and held her and handed out his heart and she had…

Merlin save her. Draco Malfoy, for his cruelty and cowardice, had been everything to her and she hadn't even known it. Then she had completely crushed him. No wonder he vanished from classes. In his place, she can't imagine the hurt she would feel. To expose yourself fully only to be confused for someone else.

Hermione is still standing in the corridor, Snape long gone from sight, when she turns on her heel and stops in front of Jack's door.

Draco's door.

She raises a hand to knock, to pound on the door and refuse to leave until he sees her. Then she stops, hand still raised, and hesitates. She doesn't know what she will say. Betrayal or Guilt. She feels both equally. Will she scream at him? Demand that he explain how he could have thought she would so easily forgive? Or will she beg for forgiveness? Apologize and grovel and look deep into his borrowed eyes to find the identity of the man she wants.

Ultimately, she does neither. For once, she steps away from her Gryffindor instincts and decides to take pause. To consider…

Is she sure this time? She was sure before, so she thought. Snape said astronomy tower and that seems so obvious, but they have attended a magical school for seven-ish years. Nothing else could ever have happened at the top of that tower? Some Slytherin secret that he assumes she knows? What if she is misreading again?

For once in her life, she decides she will be bold… but carefully.

Hermione turns from the door and, with a quick pace, returns to her tower. It is another day before she finds an opportunity and approaches Harry late at night in the common room, most other Gryffindor students retired for the night.

"Harry."

Her friend turns from where he is trying a round of chess with a fifth year, probably looking for an opponent he can actually beat since playing Ron has become an obvious lost cause. She approaches and says "excuse me" to the other student politely before pinning Harry with an earnest stare.

"Can I talk to you please? Privately? It's rather important."

Harry nods and says, "Sure," casually, not at all seeming to realize the restrained passion in her voice and the anxious tilt of her body toward the door.

She hustles him quickly into his room, thankfully empty of other classmates, and rounds on him, twisting her fingers together. "I need a favour and I need you to not ask why."

Harry nods at her slowly. "Sure. Anything." He looks at her expectantly but she still doesn't reveal her request. "It can't be that bad, 'Mione." He chuckles a little but sobers in the wake of her pained expression. "What do you need?"

Harry steps closer at her continued silence and puts a hand reassuringly at her elbow. "Anything you need, you know that, right? You've never denied me anything and I certainly owe you a favour or two."

"I... need to borrow your cloak. Tonight after curfew. And the Maurader's Map please."

He raises a brow. "Going on a little adventure? And without me and Ron no less? Do you… can I help you with anything?"

She slowly shakes her head in the negative. "Not this time. Besides, we hardly fit even two of us under there anymore."

He laughs in partial agreement. "You're pretty small though. Probably one of us could go with you."

She smiles then and whatever he sees in her eyes puts him at ease. "Just me, Harry. No evil wizards this time. Just… just a mess I might have made. Or a mess someone else made at me… Jury is still out on that. Regardless, I need to take care of something."

Seeming to ponder her demeanor, her hesitation, he asks, "You didn't actually think I'd tell you 'no' did you? I mean, I never have yet. And you've certainly never denied me. Regardless of how selfish the request." He looks at her pointedly and she goes a little pink in the cheeks, knowing exactly what he means. "I love you, Hermione, you know that. Take the cloak and the map and just… be careful, alright? And you don't have to tell me anything but just… tell me when whatever it is has been sorted."

She nods and pulls him into a tight hug. "Thanks, Harry. Love you."

Parting from her, Harry turns and grabs the items from his trunk.

"Do you look at it much?" She asks, trying to sound casual. Surely he would have seen the name…

"Not really…" There is a hesitation but he seems to decide ultimately to continue with the thought. "There is one odd thing though."

Hermione tries not to let her face give anything away but tilts her head and raises a brow in a gesture that says to please continue.

"This boyfriend of yours. No last name." He's looking at her expectant but Hermione is perplexed at first.

The polyjuice, she thinks. This perfect Polyjuice that gave him glasses as Harry and changes his voice. Snape is a clever man indeed.

"That is strange," she says conversationally.

They stare at each other a moment and then Harry, Godric bless him, just shakes his head, deferring to her judgment, and tucks the items into a small satchel with a book.

"In case anyone asks, you can say you were borrowing this."

She looks inside and glances back in amusement. "Quidditch Through the Ages"?

Harry shrugs. "They call you a know-it-all but I'm afraid your title is lacking if you let sports pass you by."

With one last grin she turns to go, looking back quickly to add, "Thanks, Harry. I owe you."

"Don't start keeping track now. I don't want to know how far in the hole I am…"

She laughs as she heads down the stairs.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco is laying on this back, hands laced together under his head, staring at the ceiling above. It's only been a couple of days since he's spoken to Hermione but Merlin it hurts. His anger is slowly losing a war with sorrow and now he just misses her.

A knock at the door surprises him. He knows it is after eleven at least, polyjuice having worn off. Draco drags himself from his bed and peers through the spyglass on the right hand side of his door frame. Not seeing anyone, he assumes perhaps Snape has dropped off another supply of potion and didn't want to be bothered to speak to him directly. Moody fucking wizard...

He opens cautiously. It's well past curfew and no students should be about, but the last thing he needs is Peeves screaming his fool head off that there's 'a Death Eater in the castle' or the Bloody Barron screaming indignantly on his behalf that a 'Malfoy belongs in Slytherin dungeons with pride'. He's already run through these scenarios in his head over the months he's been in hiding.

Instead he faces an empty corridor with no package or parcel delivered and no one in sight. Draco peers around in each direction stepping carefully a pace out of his door. He feels what is almost like someone brushing past but assumes it to be merely a draft in the old castle.

He retreats back into his rooms, closing and locking the door behind him with a sigh. Safely back in his room, he can now admit he almost wishes it had been Snape. Or anyone really. Loneliness suited him better at the beginning of term before that wretched lioness reminded him what it is to feel affection. Sitting back on his bed, he lets his face fall into his hands and rubs it in agitation.

"Draco?"

He starts and nearly falls off the bed. Standing by the door, half visible and half bathed in the nothingness of what is obviously an invisibility cloak, is Hermione, chewing her bottom lip.

"What the fuck, Granger?! Are you trying to bloody kill me?"

She can't seem to help the answering expression, a tiny grin stretching her lips, before she shakes her head 'no'. "Of course not. I just really wanted to speak with you and this was my best plan."

"You're best plan... excellent. I'm seldom on the receiving end of Gryffindor stupidity." He gestures, rolling his wrist for her to continue, "Talk then. I assume you'd already worked out who I was?" She had said his name softly and without question. It's obvious to Draco that she knew what she'd find when she came.

Hermione nods. "I did. I suspected and then something Snape said... don't be angry, he didn't actually tell me anything. It just made it easier to work out."

He waits for more but nothing else comes. He feels his ire simmering anew. He was sad and lonely but Sweet Salazar she makes him furious as well. "Did you just come to stare at the Death Eater then?"

"I- I've just been thinking. I know you didn't mean to…it was hard at first to accept. I felt foolish and I _hate_ being wrong."

That comes as no surprise. _Everyone in the wizarding world probably knows that_ , Draco thinks as she talks.

"Yes, well, it's not as if I set out to trick you, Granger. You're the one that nosed into my business and came to the wrong conclusion."

"Exactly, that's what I mean. An apology isn't necessary-"

"Not necessary? No I should fucking think not! Did you come here to... to fucking _forgive me_? Well, sorry to disappoint, Granger, but this fallout between us never hinged on _you_ forgiving _me_."

"No... I know. That's not what I meant." She pauses and eyes him carefully and it makes him exceptionally uncomfortable.

"Are you trying to find whoever it is you think I am? This is it!" He holds his hands out away from his body, presenting himself to her. "This is who I really am! All eighteen years of a fucked-up broken mess. There's no misunderstood Goyle here or handsome Jack. Just me!... Just me," he finishes quietly, glaring at her. Daring her. To what he's not sure but just _something_. Daring her to do _something_.

He's there, arms spread wide, when she drops the cloak from her shoulders and steps into his space. He lowers his arms slowly as she looks up at him and, ever so hesitantly, she raises a hand to touch his face.

"Don't," he rasps out but he doesn't mean it and they both know it. When her fingers make contact, delicate on the skin of his cheek, his eyes close in resignation, anger giving over once again to sadness. This is the girl he wanted, the witch he cared for, and his anger stems from her rejection. But her hand on his flesh doesn't feel like rejection and it makes him hope and want and _fuck_ if it doesn't feel just-right.

"I miss you terribly," she confesses. Her other hand reaches and cups his other cheek and his arms find her hips to steady them both.

"You miss Jack," he accuses her, anguished. "You miss fucking Goyle. You don't miss me."

"Names, all those are. Just names. I miss you. I miss potions sessions and bickering over Rune theory and sharing Honeydukes chocolates and arguing over my muggle books. I miss you so much and you're right here."

Draco lifts a hand to cover hers and turns his face, pressing his lips to her palm. He doesn't kiss her, doesn't move is mouth, just nuzzles into her skin for a brief, beautiful moment. But when he's done, he steps away. He can't think with her so close, touching him and corrupting him with her perfection.

"You miss who you thought I was. I enjoy Runes and chocolates, Granger, but I was also a Death Eater." She flinches but he goes on. "You can't know me if you can't accept my past. It's part of what makes me. I'm a snarky git with Daddy issues and a fortune to make Solomon blush. I'm a Malfoy and I'm still proud of that. I nearly murdered two people in an effort to kill another. I'm a coward and a monster and until you _see_ me, you don't know me."

"I _do_ see you." Hermione argues back, stubbornly even as he shakes his head at her. "I see you right now! You're right here and I came for _you_!"

"I always knew this was temporary." She looks at him as though he has slapped her. "After Hogwarts, you'll move on into a bright future and I'll go home to pick up the pieces of my father's life."

"You… temporary? So I was what for you? Killing time?" She asks with a hint of sarcasm. "Convenient little mudblood who knew your secrets?"

"I didn't say that," he says sadly. "Think a moment, if I wasn't me. If you were looking at Jack right now, or even fucking Greg, would you have assumed that's what I meant? I meant you have bigger things than me to look forward to. I can't even be self-deprecating without you assuming I'm being an arse."

"I'm not used to you being self-deprecating," she argues with a petulant twist of her lips. He almost smiles at her, at that look he adores on her face.

Instead he laughs with no humour and counters, "You're not used to it from Draco you mean. If I were Greg you'd have patted my hand and told me you'd be there for me. But I'm not and you didn't and thank you for proving my point."

"I-… that's not…"

"Stop, Granger." He walks over to the shimmering puddle of fabric and scoops it up, handing it to her. "Best get back to your tower, little lion. Wouldn't want Filch to nab you."

She's still sputtering and trying to find something to say and he knows he won the battle and lost a war. She's realizing what he already knew: There's no future for Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

Draco ushers her into the corridor and puts the cloak in her arms as she continues to protest when finally he does something he promised himself he wouldn't if they ever spoke again: He silences her by pressing his lips to hers.

She seems surprised at first, stiffens, and it breaks his heart all over again. Just as she begins to relax, he pulls away and steps back into his room. With a soft, "Goodnight, Hermione" that really means 'goodbye' he shuts the door and locks it, silencing the passage in his wake so he can no longer hear any lingering arguments.

He returns to his bed and falls down in exhaustion. Unfortunately, sleep is slow to come. Instead he makes a decision. A contingency plan he's already prepped to set into motion. He knew this year would be hard. There had been one other option for him that he had immediately discounted. He has already decided that he is ready to take it.

 **A/N**

 **She didn't think it would be that easy did she? :)**

 **So many amazing reviews from you all! This chapter is a bit longer. I considered splitting it up between the two scenes but it would have left 2 pretty short installments and you've all just been wonderful so I decided to give you a little red meat. Reviews would make me ever so happy!**

 **And Rain, I would never have known English isn't your first language. Your reviews are always a pleasure**

 **Thank you to all of you! I've never had this many reviews at this stage of a WIP. I've barely had this many in total! I'm grateful and so excited to hear what you thought of this one!**


	17. Chapter 17

He's right. She can't believe it. Hermione thought she was prepared for that confrontation: Thought she was ready to face him and declare herself for him and tell him it didn't matter what he looked like because she wanted the man inside.

And then she saw his face and she was defensive and judgmental and, damn-it-all, if he wasn't bloody right! She had pounded on his door, heedless of being exposed in the corridor, for some time before giving up, nearly crumpling to her knees on the spot.

She's shell-shocked as she trudges back to the tower. She's not careful, foot slipping out from beneath the cloak on occasion and her breathing hard and loud. She doesn't notice, nor would she care. Luck is with her and she reaches the tower without incident.

When she makes it back, Harry is waiting up for her.

"Did you take care of whatever mess you made?"

She looks at him owlish and blinks. "No..." She's still surprised by her own failure. "No I... Oh, Harry, I think I made it worse."

He furrows his brows at her and stands from the sofa, approaching her. She hands his cloak back, thinking that's what he was waiting for, but he balls it up and tosses it on a chair. Harry Potter, her best friend in the world but who she always believed to be notoriously obtuse to her feelings, wraps his arms around her and holds her as she sniffles and stops trying to hold the tears that drip down her cheeks.

"Can I help?"

She shakes her head in his neck and answers, "Not more than this. But this is nice."

Harry chuckles and pulls back to look at her. "Surely whatever it is you can fix it? You're Hermione Granger. You fix all _my_ problems."

Hermione giggles but it sounds like a sob, choked by the tightness in her throat. "I solve your _riddles_ , Harry, _puzzles_. I'm not so good with actual problems. Remember when you fought with Ron in Fourth year? I was a dreadful go-between. No patience for anyone's flaws and now here I am, all messed up."

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead and leads her to the sofa. They cuddle in silence for a few minutes before he tries again. "Can you at least give me some idea? It's Jack isn't it?"

"I'm sure that much has been obvious," she mutters.

"Well, you spent a few months nearly inseparable and now he's been absent for a few days and your study schedule is completely cocked up."

She looks at him in question and he laughs. "Come on, Hermione, I do know you pretty well you know. I may not manage my own time so carefully but it's hard not to pick up on your routine. It's how I know when I'm off track. If you're on Potions for next week, I better get to my Charms work because it'll be due the next day."

Hermione laughs a little. Maybe Harry is more in tuned to her than she thought. She had always imagined he didn't pay her that much attention if he didn't need anything. Perhaps that's just another way in which she is unfair…

"Do you think I'm too judgmental?"

He frowns down at her. "Not exactly a word I would use…"

Hermione huffs and sits up, looking back at him. "Well what word would you use then?"

"Did Jack say you were? Did you two have a row?"

"He didn't say I was but… it's come to my attention perhaps I don't always reach the right conclusions.

Harry readjusts himself so he is leaning against the arm and looking at her fully. "You're really smart, Hermione, you know that..." It's a preface for something she has a feeling she won't like but she nods for him to continue. "It's just that... sometimes... you try to analyze people the way you would a book. People are more... surprising. All the facts in the world can add up but when you're dealing with human beings, they can lead you way off the mark. You have a tendency to put too much faith in facts," he says carefully, diplomatically. "People change too much, hide too much, for that."

"I like facts," she pouts. "Facts don't' lie to you."

"Did _he_? Did Jack lie to you? There's been… something… about him."

She sighs and leans back once again, letting her head fall off the back of the sofa and staring up at the ceiling of the Common Room. "No... he didn't lie to me. I just made some assumptions. Based on, you know... facts." She snorts at herself, a little bemused at how well Harry knows her, how well Draco fucking _Malfoy_ seems to know her, and how little she seemed to understand about herself.

"Is he angry at you?" She looks up to find him looking at her concerned and waves it off.

"No, oddly. I mean I think he was but I don't think he really is anymore. I…I can't say much. I promised…He has some secrets."

Harry gives her a look and stiffens and she immediately knows that was the wrong thing to say. "Oh stop being suspicious. I can see your wheels turning. I may not always be right but, Merlin, Harry, you always think 'secret' means Dark Arts in the basement." She laughs a little, trying to deflect any question Harry might have. Hermione can't know he's already been suspicious of Jack for weeks.

He finally seems to concede, "Fine, fine, he's a fluffy kitten who you've wronged. Go on then."

"Fluffy kitten might be pushing it," she grins. "Regardless, I made some assumptions about his secret that were wrong and he's, rightfully, offended that I could think what I did. He _was_ angry before but I think now... he's just hurt. I hurt him, Harry. Pretty bad."

"Will he forgive you?"

"That's the worst part. I think he basically has but… I don't think he can stand to be around me now, knowing what I thought of him."

Harry licks his lips and asks carefully, "He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

Hermione nods and looks far away, hesitating before answering. "I was going to tell him I love him. The night that... when he found out what I'd thought." She locks eyes with him again and says more quietly, "I think I love him and he can barely look at me."

"Did you tell him? Tonight? Is that why you went out?"

Hermione thinks about that. When she went out she still didn't know precisely what she meant to say. She was still a little angry, a little hurt. It never occurred to her how angry _he_ might be; how devastated.

"I didn't. He… wasn't very receptive to me anyway."

"Did you apologize at least? For whatever it is you thought or did?"

She thinks back on the conversation. She had right? She thinks she did but believes it might have been wrapped up with a lot of defensiveness. "Sort of…"

Harry laughs and moves closer, throwing his arm over her shoulder and pulling her tight into a sideways hug. He kisses her temple, much as Jack had done many occasions before, and a fresh wave of sorrow passes over. "Tomorrow, Hermione. Find the man tomorrow and bleeding apologize. Merlin, but you're terrible with men."

Hermione smacks his chest but smirks anyway, knowing it's true and his criticisms come from a safe place. "You're supposed to be making me feel better, Harry, not worse."

"I thought you wanted honesty and good advice."

She surprises him by kissing his cheek as she stands.

"What was that for?"

"Your good advice," she smiles. "I forget sometimes that you're smarter than me when it comes to relationships."

"And potions. Don't forget sixth year."

"She rolls her eyes and throws out, "Don't push it, Potter," as she retires for the night thinking of the promise of another chance. The possibility of tomorrow.

 **A/N**

 **I missed my update yesterday AND this one is short? I know I'm the worst**

 **But you guys are the best! 200 of you following! Huge thanks as always for your reviews. This chapter was a bit transitional, but I thought it was fair to get in Hermione's head a little after that confrontation with Draco. She didn't MEAN to break his heart...**

 **And Harry... I've said this to a couple of you in review replies... but Harry really isn't a bad guy either. Hermione moping in the early chapters was feeling a little ignored. A little used. But that wasn't Harry's intent anymore than it was Hermione's to hurt Draco. Sometimes people just mess up, or don't give you what you need, depending on your perspective.**

 **As always, I am excited to hear your thoughts on this chapter. I'm going to start edit work on the next chapter now so I don't miss another update!**


	18. Chapter 18

Tomorrow doesn't work itself out as Hermione had imagined. Entering Ancient Runes, she finds the seat next to her empty yet again. She isn't surprised by that, assuming Draco has taken another day to lick his wounds.

It is however, a complete shock when she is told she will be working alone for the remainder of the semester as apparently Jack has taken his NEWTS early and will no longer be joining them. School is in session for another _month_ before finals. When she questions, she is told he came to the class early that morning for his final testing. He had cited a need to return home as soon as possible in light of a family matter.

She sits through the rest of the class, barely able to stop the jittery feelings of sickness threatening to lay her out.

When they are excused, she races to the Potions room in search of Professor Snape. He doesn't have any classes until after lunch so she hopes to find him looking over parchments in his free time. Instead she finds a locked door and the Professor absent.

Next she tries Jack's private room but is less than surprised when he doesn't answer the door. He could simply be ignoring her but that sinking feeling is starting to pull her down into a panicked melancholy. Fearing the worst, she finally ends up at the Headmistress' door in the afternoon.

"Poppycock." The door swings open for her and she finds McGonagall behind her desk.

"Ah, Miss Granger. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Headmistress, I wanted to ask you… how much do you know about Jack?"

The older woman frowns slightly and peers down at Hermione over the rims of her glasses. How she manages to peer down while sitting, Hermione has never fully understood but absolutely accepted. "In what way am I to answer? What do I know about what aspect in particular?"

She annunciates 'particular' in that way she has that is one part condescending, two parts intimidating.

"About his… family, I guess?... History."

Minerva sighs. "Am I to understand you know something about those things, or that you have questions? Forgive me, but you will have to be more clear."

"I know… ugh, this is hard. I promised not to say anything so I'm trying not to reveal too much. Though, if you already know, it doesn't matter…" She clears her throat and her mind and starts again. "It doesn't matter either way really; how much you know. What I wanted to ask is if you knew where he was. He's finished our Runes class and I've not been able to find him today."

Her face softens an infinitesimal amount. Hermione might have missed it if she did not know her as well as she does. "I didn't realize you were here out of concern. Rest assured he is perfectly fine."

"But where is he now? He's not been in class for days!"

"He has gone home, Miss Granger."

A pressure rests heavy on her heart, her breath straining to remain steady. Gone? He's...

"He already left?" She asks, words shrouded in disbelief.

McGonagall nods at her. "Indeed. He was prepared to finish his course work early and requested to be allowed to return home. He was granted the request by Kingsley Shaklebolt himself."

"So Kingsley knows then? Who he is?"

She nods again in response. "As do I."

"I need to see him," Hermione blurts out, startling the Headmistress who frowns in thought once again.

"Yes... Severus mentioned you might make such demands. I'm afraid I can't grant that to you at this time. You need to remain at Hogwarts and finish your year, if nothing else than to give the young man his space."

"You don't understand-"

"I might understand better than you think. He's had a very trying youth and this year was no reprieve. It seems he found a friend in you. I do not know the details of your… altercation… but suffice it to say he is in desperate need of acceptance and whatever you were to him, is not what he needs now. He will return to his home and live out the rest of the school year under a sort of house arrest, as per his original options."

Hermione feels surprise but also sorrow at that. "He'd rather do that than stay here..." _With me_ is left unsaid.

"He is more troubled than he lets on, Miss Granger. After graduation, if you so desire, you may visit him at his home and no one can stop you."

She pales. "I don't think I can go there."

Sympathy suffuses McGonagall's stern expression. Yet she counters, confident and prim as ever, "You were sorted into my house for a reason, Miss Granger. I have the utmost faith that, if it is as important to you as it seems, you will find the way to face the demons of your past."

"But they... they _tortured_ me there. Gave me this." She places a hand over the sleeve of her arm, indicating the scars they both know are there.

"They very nearly did the same to him as well. Did he share with you the ways in which You-Know-Who encouraged loyalty? Or discouraged failure? Have you seen the scars left by cutting curses on his back? Imbued with dark magic and unable to be healed…And the indignities his mother faced, I've come to understand, were less physically taxing but certainly will leave invisible scars of her own. I don't know what relationship you have had or what you hope for in the future, but there are hurdles that will trip you. His home perhaps being the least of them."

She picks up her quill and gives Hermione a significant look. "If that is all, Miss Granger?"

Hermione excuses herself and races back to her tower, skipping meals and even, the most uncharacteristic of choices, a class in the afternoon.

She's partially incensed. How dare, McGonagall? Hermione fought in a bloody war. She's not allowed to break a little now, in the face of her own torture? A deeper part of her knows this is the Headmistress' particular brand of tough love but she's never been one hundred percent on board with it. She thinks, not for the first time, the Wizarding world is a slightly barbaric place. Hermione allows a moment of smug satisfaction at her muggle heritage, feeling significantly less archaic than this magical equivalent of 'walk it off'.

And Draco… Of course she knew nothing of his scars or his treatment under Tom Riddle. Until yesterday she didn't even realize who he was. She's certainly never had a conversation with Draco Malfoy in which he revealed anything about himself, and as Jack, he always spoke in generalities to keep up the pretense of his costume of flesh.

Focusing on the remainder of the school year seems suddenly more daunting than it ever has. How can she stay here, studying magic theory and preparing for tests, when he is… where he is?

What a performance he has given. Not only wearing a different face and pretending to be Jack, but even with her. He thought his secret was out with her and yet he still kept up a brave face. He apologized for hurting her in the past and made her feel treasured and special while all the while, he was probably struggling with his memories and his scars. Had it been hard to hide? Or had he been actually happy with her? That thought makes her heart hurt. Had she made him happy only to destroy him?

It doesn't take long to make the decision. As soon as the year ends, Hermione plans to make a trip to the manor and no cackling memory witch is going to stop her. She'd face down Bellatrix and Riddle himself to make this right. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, neutered under house arrest, certainly will not give her pause.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Mother."

Narcissa glides across the marble floor in the opulent entryway of Malfoy Manor and opens her arms to her son. Draco accepts the gesture, wrapping his own arms around her and tilting his head to rest against hers. He's taller than her now. Black women are known to be witches of stature, but Draco surpassed her sometime in the past couple of years. He had hardly noticed, distracted as he's been, but today it strikes him how small she is. How thin and fragile. His arms tighten and he almost whimpers like a little boy as she rubs her hand up and down his back.

"Oh, my dragon. I have missed you."

"It's good to see you," he manages without a shake in his voice. Straightening up, he plants a light kiss to her cheek and asks, "Where's Father?"

Narcissa waves her hand. "Oh who knows? Being relegated to the manor with no wand is more a punishment for me than for him. I believe he's taken up a new hobby or other. Model ships or some such rubbish. Really he's just terribly underfoot."

Draco grins. He sees through her complaints and can tell she's happy they can be together. Draco loves his mother dearly and is relieved at her casual demeanor in light of their situation.

"Really, 'Cissa, if you would instruct the elves to bring the proper materials I would be so much less in the way." Lucius is coming down the grand staircase, snake-head cane supporting more of his weight than it used to.

"Father. You look well."

"I look like a muggle. Walking around without cushioning charms or levitation on this wretched leg." At a quelling look from his wife he quickly adds, "But I am home and surrounded by my family. I cannot truly complain."

"You can, I just don't listen." Narcissa is already walking away, leading them to her favorite sitting room in the main house. "I've had tea set out. You'll both join me."

Draco can't tell you how many ways that is _not_ a question.

Siting with his family, eating biscuits and sipping tea, large windows overlooking the manicured grounds, Draco can almost forget for a moment everything he's hiding from. His mother, he's sure, chose this room for a reason. Voldemort never held court here. No muggles were ever tortured here. Nagini never ate a human person here. This room was Narcissa's sanctuary during the war. You did not make demands of the Dark Lord, but he had _graciously_ allowed that the family should have some areas of privacy even as they hosted his _honorable_ ranks.

"I must say I am surprised to see you," his father begins, fracturing his reverie and reprieve. "I can't imagine what could be so terrible as to be worth sharing this torment with me. You seemed to be of stronger stuff when we last saw you." The disappointment is poorly concealed.

"Lucius," Narcissa hisses under her breath.

"It's fine, Mother." Draco sets his cup down and levels his father with a stare. "The Minister has been kind enough to allow me to keep my wand. The confinement to the manor is more a formality since the end of term was our agreement. In a month's time I will have complete freedom. I don't see this is exactly sharing your same fate, but if that makes it easier for you to stomach..."

"There is no reason to be insolent, Draco."

He shrugs. "Apologies." The last time he had seen his parents, over the Yule holidays, he was in the beginnings of his courting with Hermione and the world had seemed a hopeful place. It had allowed him to look past what had been and look toward what could be. He had been more worried for Hermione, alone in her parents' empty house. Now, betrayal sitting bitter on his tongue, he's finding it harder not to see the man who watched as he was branded; not to look at the notable blond hair of a Death Eater who allowed his Lord to reprimand and punish and _teach_ in the most awful ways.

"What happened, my dove?" Narcissa looks concerned and leans forward to pat Draco's knee. "I am so very pleased to see you but these are not the circumstances I'd have wished. Was someone cruel to you?"

Draco shakes his head, not wanting to divulge in general but especially with his father watching the exchange. What would he even say? Harry Potter's muggleborn broke my heart? I've fallen in love with Hermione Granger and she thinks I'm a monster?

"It was more difficult than anticipated, convincingly playing a part. And rather solitary. I finished my work, sat my NEWTS, and so there seemed no reason to stay."

His father nods in approval. "Logical thinking, Draco. I am proud of you for completing in such efficient time."

Proud of him...Words he once longed to hear. They feel a bit empty now. The Death Eater is proud? Congratulations, Draco.

"Thank you. I believe, if you will excuse me, Mother, I might like to retire. I've had a rather intense day wrapping up my affairs."

He stands as she watches his face. "Of course, Darling. Please join us for dinner?"

She looks worried, like he might refuse so he puts on the best smile he can. "I will see you in the dining room. Good day to you both."

 **A/N**

 **So first, apologies for my lack of review responses :(**

 **FF seems to have an issue today with showing the recent reviews. I received e-mail notices for some, but not all of the reviews send me a notice (an issue that has been going on for some time). So please accept my sincere regrets and, along with that, my heartfelt thanks for all of your wonderful reviews. I didn't want to miss an update because of this. That just seemed unfair to those of you who are waiting for an update. No review reply AND no update? I think you might kill me with sticks...**

 **My hope is that they will remedy this situation tomorrow and I can get my to my regularly scheduled programming of PM gushing and light banter. Many of the notices I was able to see were wonderful and I'm so glad you are enjoying this little drama.**

 **I am excited to read your thoughts as we enter in to the final 1/4 of this story. Please do me the pleasure of leaving a review as you so faithfully have been doing. I am going to say a little prayer that in the morning the site will be in working order and I can thank you all properly.**

 **At this rate, this story will likely conclude either this weekend or the beginning of next week**

 **Happy Monday!**


	19. Chapter 19

Six days pass with little incident.

And by "little", Draco would correct and say _no_ incidents. Like not one fucking incident of note.

Each day he has been going through the motions of being alive and little else.

Today, he's sprawled out on the grass behind the manor, tossing a snitch between his hands, catching it before the wings can sprout. He feels like a cat playing with a mouse and is taking a bit of nasty pleasure in the comparison.

"Perhaps, if it is your intention to while away the entirety of your month of incarceration, you would like to help me with a project."

Draco squints up into his mother's face, sun creating a halo behind her head and shadowing her face.

"I'm pretty satisfied with the whiling away, but thank you for the offer."

With the reflexes of a seeker to put Potter to shame, she reaches down and snags the little golden ball as it is mid-way between his hands. "Mother!"

She merely arches her eyebrow and waits as Draco groans and drags himself up. "What is it you need, Mother?" He asks politely, resigned.

Her smile returns, undaunted by the exchange and hands him back the snitch. "I'm working on the library."

She starts back toward the manor and Draco follows like an errant child, shuffling his feet and whinging, "Can't the House Elves do it?"

"No, dear, I want to do this personally. It's not a small cleaning project. No, I've decided to re-catalog the books entirely. The Ministry came, you know. They took anything that might hint at Dark Magic. Barbaric, if you ask me. They'll be burning them next, like the muggles in Riddle's time. Regardless, it left some unsightly holes and disorganization."

Unknown to most anyone left alive, Narcissa Black was an avid reader and has the highest respect for knowledge. Marrying a traditional wizard who was subsequently bowing to another, most of her days in her adult life have left little time for who she was, replaced instead by who she's expected to be. Draco understands this is his Mother getting her life back. He, perhaps more than anyone, including his father, has seen how she looks longingly at the stacks and shelves; has caught her tucked away in one of her few private moments devouring a book.

They enter and Draco finds that his mother must have already begun. Whole shelves are bare while at their foot he sees stacks of books in what he assumes to be the new categories. "I want to start with Potions here on the west wall and then beside that Incantations, sorted by year of publication. The historical accounts I would like to be separated into topics. War, invention, and biographies definitely. If you find enough of another category, we can expand to more.

Draco's mouth is hanging open, taking in for perhaps the first time, the enormity of the room. Of course he's been here countless times, used the resources for educational as well as entertainment purposes, but in the context of a _chore_? The place is massive.

"I asked the elves to bring in your school books as well. Your Potions book can be sorted in with the rest. I'm not sure what to do with that Muggle Studies tome. I doubt you will find a suitable category… fiction perhaps."

Draco is barely listening as another thought has occurred to him. As he's staring into the room, his mother glides over and kisses his cheek. "I know it's a bit overwhelming. I'll just go retrieve my personal books and maybe direct the elves to bring us a midday meal. I'll return shortly."

With that, she abandons him to the piles of parchment. Draco drags himself to where he sees his school books, intent on starting with the simple task of placing each subject near its new home, when he sees it. The mention of his books had made him remember the charmed notebook. Other than the holidays and a few in-class flirting sessions, he had not required its use much during the past few months. He spent nearly every day with Hermione and shared most classes; partnered with her in some.

Now he looks down at it and a wave of sadness he has been ignoring for the better part of a week, rushes through him, fast and powerful and dangerous as an ocean wave.

Carefully, he picks up the book and flips to the first page to find just exactly what he feared. There is her familiar scrawl, line after line of it. Draco takes the book to a tucked back corner and begins to read.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The first full day Draco is gone, Hermione mopes. She mopes and she fusses and she pouts and she's sad.

The second day she remembers who she is and finds her courage and her instinct to make plans. The notebook Draco gifted her has been largely unused in the past weeks, having had him physically in her vicinity nearly every day. Now, it seems her only and best option, at least while school is in session.

Taking the book to one of the private classrooms where they had once studied together (as well as some light touches that still leave her breathless to remember), she sits cross-legged on the floor, notebook open in front of her and tries to write.

 **Draco, I**

She stops, unsure how to proceed or if this was how she wanted to start. The drawback to this form of writing is that anything she puts to paper is permanent. Being magic writing, a spell connecting the other book, the words will stay until they are read on his side. Even if she destroyed her own book, the words would remain for him.

She begins again more carefully.

 **I understand you have returned home for the year. I hope you are well**

Stupid… hope you are well? That's the best she can do? Hermione is frustrated with herself. A master of the Queen's English with a broad vocabulary and stringent command of grammar, she is unaccustomed to words failing her and it makes her angry.

 **I know you're angry. Or hurt. Both I suppose.**

 **Can we talk? If you read this, let me know with a response. I'd appreciate the opportunity to speak properly.**

So stiff. So cold. Gods she's terrible at this. Unsure how to proceed, she closes the book and continues with her day, checking back often to confirm any response. Nothing comes and the words remain. He's probably avoiding her, even in this written form.

She sleeps restlessly that night, waking multiple times in the wee hours and rolling over to check the book.

The next day is sadly much of the same. She sends more messages, often stopping in the middle, unhappy with the content.

 **Draco, I really believe we need to talk. I know there is a lot on your mind but if you would just give me the chance to tell you**

 **I have a lot I'd like to say if you'd only list**

 **Merlin, I'm awful at this. Write me back**

She goes on like this for days, writing detached, hollow words that really do nothing more than request (or demand) his response.

In the end, she decides to do something relatively drastic for lack of a better option. She confides in Harry.

"I shouldn't really be telling you… but I suppose it doesn't matter now and I really need some of that brilliant advice of yours."

Harry shrugs and takes a seat on a giant rock with a smooth flat surface. She dragged him out of the castle to a secluded place around the lake, hoping for privacy. She told him she was going to divulge a secret that wasn't hers in hopes of asking for help.

"I'm honored, actually. Hermione Granger asking me a question…" He grins cheekily and Hermione swats his arm before dropping down beside him on the large stone.

"Don't start; this is serious." She smiles back nonetheless, increasingly grateful for his company.

"Alright out with it then. Let me guess: Jack is a secret Dark Lord in the making."

She snorts. "Hardly. The thing is… Jack, he's… well he's not precisely Jack."

"Well that sheds some light on the map…Who is he then? You know… _precisely_?"

"You have to promise not to tell anyone, Harry."

"Didn't we go through this in the common room? I won't divulge your secret, no matter how salacious or intriguing. Scouts honor." He crosses his heart of effect.

Hermione rolls her eyes at him. "Muggle swear? You must be serious then." A deep breath and she continues, spitting it out quickly before she loses her nerve or changes her mind for the thousandth time.

"Jack is Draco Malfoy."

He blinks. "I-… wait, you'll have to go back and tick. He's who?"

"Draco. Jack is actually Draco Malfoy. There never really was a Jack. Just some muggle who unwittingly contributed to polyjuice so no one would know Draco returned to school."

Harry runs a hand through his mess of hair and squints at her. "Malfoy? Jack is Draco Malfoy. But then that means that you…"

She nods, watching him work it all out. "We were… together."

"Merlin... but 'were'? I feel like there's a lot to this story that I don't have yet."

Hermione takes a breath and starts to tell him everything. She even begins with the embarrassing morning that she tried to seduce Harry only to be spurned and their sort-of first date that followed. She takes him through her thought process that led her to the devastating wrong conclusion and how the relationship had progressed from there. She wraps up with the notebook he'd gifted her and her current struggles to reach out to him.

Leaning back on his hands, staring up at a blue sky, Harry breathes out, "Wow, 'Mione, when you mess up you do it spectacularly."

She swats him again, much harder. "Hey! You're supposed to be my emotional support and love-life sage. Not judge me!"

"Sorry. I mean, first I can't believe you fell for bloody Malfoy-"

"I didn't realize I was at the time," she interjects.

"-but I almost feel a little bad for him. That can't have been a fun realization. Imagine he didn't realize who you were and the whole time was picturing Pansy Parkinson or something."

"Oh my God, Harry, I get it! I'm a horrible person! I didn't need you to talk me through that realization; I need to know what to do now!"

He shrugs. "Not sure what you can do, while he's there and you're here if he won't answer your messages. Maybe it's what you're saying?"

"Probably," she grouses. "Or I mean, it would be probably because they're dreadful. But he hasn't even read them so it doesn't matter."

"Are they really that bad?" He asks thoughtfully. "He might read them eventually you know. Might want to be sure they are slightly less than wretched in case he has a change of heart."

Hermione reaches into her beaded bag and pulls out the notebook, handing it over with little ceremony. She watches as he opens the front cover and quickly reads.

"Well…" he starts, "It's not completely awful."

Hermione, though she just used the word 'dreadful' herself, stiffens. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's uh… I mean you care about him right? Feel bad over the whole thing?"

She nods and waits for his judgement. "You don't even apologize here."

"I did apologize. I mean I sort of did, last time we spoke."

"You sort of apologize for completely devastating the bloke and you can't bring yourself to repeat the phrase now? Merlin, you hate being wrong don't you?"

"I…" She can't deny it. She absolutely hates being incorrect… about anything. Then this happens and she is just so mind-numbingly wrong she can hardly wrap her head around it.

Harry holds out his hand. "Give me your pen."

"What?" She blinks, confused.

"The pen you use. The charmed pen for the book. Hand it over."

Hermione reaches into the bag to retrieve it but as she does argues, "I'm not going to let you write for me, Harry, like some terrible Cyrano de Bergerac farce."

"I won't write anything you don't say." He settles back on the rock, notebook propped on his leg and holds the pen over the paper just below her last message.

"Tell me how you feel about what happened," he prompts.

Hermione huffs and crosses her arms completely petulantly. "You know how I feel about it."

"Do I? Do you miss him?"

"Of course I do," she says quickly.

"Tell me. What do you miss? Studying?"

She bites her lip and says carefully, "Runes."

"Why Runes specifically. Dreadful class if you ask me."

"Runes is actually fascinating. We were partnered you know. I mean, _I_ partnered us, on purpose." Harry isn't actually writing anything and it relaxes her to know it was just an exercise to open her up. She gazes out over the lake. "I had just figured out who he was. Rather, who I thought he was, misguided obviously. I used the opportunity to get close to him."

"Why? I mean, if you thought he was Goyle…"

She shrugs and looks over, tucking a curl behind her ear. "He seemed lonely. The beginning of the year he hardly spoke to anyone. Then that day I thought he was you… it was one of the best days of my life. Even if he was Goyle… it didn't matter to me who he'd been. I felt like I saw someone I could connect with. We had more in common than I could have imagined. That he was a Slytherin and a Death Eater's son… it didn't matter. I just wanted more of what we'd shared that day."

"And after you schemed your way into his life?" Harry shoulder checks her softly.

"We talked theory a lot, at first. He's really brilliant, Harry. I've never had a more stimulating study partner."

"Stimulating? Shall I write that?"

Her eyes widen, "don't you dare!"

Harry chuckles at her expense and shows her the blank page. "Just a joke. You were saying he's brilliant?"

Her expression goes back to the dreamy state it had started to enter before. "Brilliant. And creative too. Not just knowledge but really excellent critical thinking. Our marks were perfect on every project."

"How did you go from study partners to more?"

"We started with working on other subjects together. He's a natural at potions. I suppose, Snape being his Godfather, that makes some sense, but it's more than that. His instincts are pure genius."

"Hmm… I might have to pass off my crown as top Potions student then…"

Hermione raises an eyebrow and smirks, "This again? You know, no one is buying that anymore."

Harry shrugs. "Slughorn thinks I'm amazing." They laugh together a little and he asks, "And after the studying?"

"Well it started slow. You can't spend so much time with someone without getting to know them. We talked about silly things of course. Hobbies and books and interests. But then we started on other things. Then the more we spoke, the more natural it felt. You know how difficult Malfoy can be. In hindsight now… knowing it was him…. At first he was sarcastic and a little closed off but by the holidays, he was… well he started being quite nice to me. He… I guess 'softened' maybe? I think I started to see who he really is… and I liked it. Liked him. Quite a lot actually." She blushes.

"Jack was, if I understand properly what I've heard whispered amongst the girls, quite a looker."

"Merlin, Harry, _looker_? Does anyone use that anymore?" She laughs a little then she clarifies, "and no, that wasn't it. I mean Jack, that muggle face, he was very handsome but I made a practice of reminding myself it was just a façade. I knew he would look different someday and I didn't care."

Harry screws up his face. "And… _Goyle_? No issue envisioning him?"

"It really didn't matter to me by that point. I just… I really liked him, Harry. I almost couldn't believe how much but I did."

"And now?"

"Oh I'm way past that now. I told you before didn't I? I'm completely hopeless… Gods, Harry, what have I done?" She looks sad now, still staring out over the lake. "I really messed up didn't I? I never wanted to hurt him. Certainly didn't do it on purpose I just… I made a mistake and I don't know how to fix it."

"What do you want to happen now?"

"I want to tell him I love him but not in some book. I want to say it to his face. _His_ face. Draco." She looks over to find Harry writing.

"What are you doing?!" She's panicked, afraid he wrote everything she just said she didn't want to write.

Harry turns the book and there is nothing more than hash marks through her old messages. "Start over, Hermione. Don't write like you're taking a test. Tell him how you feel not what you _think_ or what _he_ needs to do."

He stands then, patting her knee as he does. "Write it now, while you're thinking about it. I'll see you at dinner, alright? Sit me with me and Daphne." And, accepting her nod of agreement, he walks away.

She stares down at the page again and starts to write.

 **A/N**

 **Closer and closer... :)**

 **You guys (she says fondly)...**

 **I'm just super excited by the number of you reading and reviewing. I'm giddy each time I post, hoping for your comments and you certainly do not disappoint! A few more chapters to go! I'm so looking forward to hearing from you!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N**

 **STOP**

 **WARNING**

 **PROCEED WITH CAUTION**

 **It seems the usual FF update e-mails were not working when I posted this. If you are reading this chapter, please be sure you have also read Chapter 19**

 **You have? Oh then carry on... :)**

 **/end A/N**

 **..**

Draco stares at the page for a while, just looking over her familiar hand writing, heart in his throat, wondering what she has to say. He sees the top of the page is full of false starts and half thoughts that have then been crossed out by dark, confident lines. The first few messages are what he would have expected from her. The swotty witch is demanding and haughty as usual. Though he had come to find it slightly endearing, he has little patience for it in his current depressed state.

It is near the bottom of the page, he notices an abrupt change in tone.

 **Draco**

 **I'm so sorry. I'm just**

 **I can't believe how much I hurt you. How stupid I was. I didn't mean for it to happen but that doesn't fix it. My intention is not really what's in question is it?**

 **It's hard, being here alone. I have Harry of course but he's busy with Quidditch and Ron and I just don't feel comfortable as part of that trio anymore. In fact, I never felt as comfortable with them as I do you. I've never**

 **This**

 **Whatever this is we have it's like nothing I've never experienced and I miss it so much it hurts. Miss YOU so much it hurts. I almost can't believe how much**

 **Would it have been better if it had never happened? Meeting you the way I did? Getting to know you? As awful as this is now I wouldn't give up this year with you for anything**

 **I feel terrible that you left. Partially because I'm so sorry I hurt you but also because I miss you, completely selfishly, because you made this entire year better. I'm not sure what I would have done without you. You made me happier than I expected to be and then I did this**

 **This complete utter cock up and I'm furious with myself for it**

 **Please, just let me know you're there and you don't**

 **Please don't hate me**

Draco comes to the end, the words vanishing as he reads.

Hate her? He doesn't fucking hate her. He's absolutely, stupidly, irrevocably in love with the infuriating witch! He's still hurt and angry but Merlin fucking help him he hates that she sounds so sad. Knowing her as he does, he can recognize the organic quality of sincere writing. She didn't proof read this or write it on a different parchment to transfer or check for errors or any of the other hundred things she might do when drafting a message. She sat down with that silly muggle pen and just wrote.

So at least she feels guilty.

Draco isn't sure how to respond but retrieves his own writing instrument and poises it over the page.

 _Granger_

That's as far as he gets and he stops to think. He watches the name disappear. She read it but she's waiting. She's not pushing or prompting which he finds it in himself to appreciate. Probably she's staring at the page, hoping for the best and bracing for the worst. He starts by throwing her a proverbial bone.

 _I don't hate you. Never did_

But then his nerve falters a little and his self-preservation kicks in full on.

 _However, if you thought I was Goyle_

 _Merlin, Granger, fucking Goyle?_

 _You don't know me obviously. Whatever connection you imagine we had was built on a fabrication in your head. And however you acted towards me, how you treated me, began with you believing I was someone else._

 _You don't know me and I'm not entirely sure I know you_

He winces. It's harsher than he meant. He certainly knows her enough that he's pining like a heart-broken Hufflepuff, but that's not something he's willing to admit; not a power he will grant her. He tries to soften the blow but close the conversation with finality.

 _Don't feel too bad, Granger. Intention does actually make a difference. Enough people have hurt me on purpose that I'll at least absolve you of any guilt. Finish your year. Maybe I'll see you in Diagon someday._

 _Take care_

There. It's an obvious dismissal. Draco closes the notebook, not wanting to see a response, half hoping there isn't one. He takes the book from the library and deposits it in the desk in his private rooms, securing the drawer with locking charms.

It's not a perfect ending to their love affair but it is, at the least, a closure of sorts.

Draco trudges back to the library and begins the task of organizing books for his mother. Suddenly he's grateful to his mother. Grateful for the distraction.

He doesn't check the charmed book again in the coming weeks. He allows his mother to dote and the library to fill his time. His relationship with his father is strained as he finally lets himself wallow in bitterness of his past few years. To Lucius' credit, he is relatively patient as Draco works through his ire.

He thinks of Hermione often and fresh sorrow ripples through him each time. Some days he worries for her. As the end of term approaches, he knows she has the realities of her life looming ahead. Her parents are still gone, her home no longer a place she can truly return. Will she retreat to the muggle world? Or hide from it, immersing herself as a witch to wash away her past?

Some days he tells himself he doesn't care because Hermione Granger has no use for the sympathies of Draco "Death Eater" Malfoy. Those are the days he is less civil to his father.

It is the end of May when he finally digs up enough courage (or maybe stupidity he tells himself) to look at the charmed notebook one last time. If he is as in love with her as he proclaims, doesn't she deserve enough respect to read her response?

But when he opens the book, the page is completely blank. His message, having been read, has long since vanished and there is no answering text.

Draco closes the book carefully, with _purpose_ , and stows it in the box of muggle trinkets Hermione had gifted him for Christmas. He's not sure he can ever look at it again, but he doesn't hate himself quite enough to throw it out.

 **A/N**

 **Short I know. However this was a natural stopping point. From here we are going to run into the conclusion at break neck speed! I tried to post this yesterday and received an error message so ::fingers crossed::!**

 **I am looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter and, if you missed yesterday's update, chapter 19 if you would be so kind. You guys have been amazing through this process and I can't thank you enough. But if you leave me a review or two I'll definitely thank you again :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N**

 **Just a quick note that update e-mails have not gone out in days so if you are reading this, make sure you caught 19 and 20! If you need to go back and catch up, go ahead, I'll wait here :) And, regardless of how far along the story is, if you go ahead and review them, I'll still gush at you!**

Hermione fidgets as she waits. She fidgets her feet, shuffling her weight from one leg to the other. She fidgets her hands, picking at the skin of her cuticles with the nails of her other hand. She fidgets with her face, tongue sweeping out to wet the corners of her mount, intermittent with her teeth biting her bottom lip.

None of it is terribly becoming, her mother would have said. A lady does not fidget. Her father might have added, a Granger does not fret. And, they would have agreed, Hermione certainly should never be so visibly nervous as to put her audience in a position of power.

Hermione misses her parents a great deal; today more than ever. Today, Hermione is standing on the steps of the infamous Malfoy Manor. She's only been here once before and the circumstances had not been ideal. Bound by strong arms, defenseless without her wand, and afraid for her life, the last time she had seen this structure, she was in very real danger of being Avada'd by Tom Riddle, in all his snake-faced glory. Instead, today, Hermione is fidgeting as she waits for someone to answer the door, intentionally seeking entrance into the home.

She's been planning this for weeks. After Draco's last message, she had held the pen over the paper for what seemed like hours. Everything he had said, vanished from the page, kept coming back to her. She wished she could read the words again and cursed the nature of the charmed book. She started to second guess; to reconsider. For days she tried to remember his exact words and determine how she should move forward.

Her initial reaction was that he was dismissive, but she knew that couldn't be right. She'd seen his face fall, the day she called him Greg. She'd seen the torment cloud his features before his flawless mask shifted back into place.

Was he simply over her then? Had a week given him some sort of clarity that led him to conclude she wasn't what he wanted? Or was he so angry he couldn't write what he might want to say? It had been so abrupt and sharp and hollow all at once.

So Hermione did what she does best: She made a plan. Her first step was to contact Kingsley Shacklebolt. It took some doing, but she convinced him she needed to know when Draco would officially be able to receive visitors as the Lord of the manor. He was reluctant to tell but she pulled the "Harry Potter" card and the "Famous Muggleborn" card and the "I gave up my parents for your war" card and eventually he capitulated. From there it was a matter of focusing on her yearend testing and finding a way to locate the nearly unplottable Malfoy Manor. Daphne Greengrass was actually very helpful on that front.

"You want to talk to Draco?" She had asked, eyeing Hermione from around Harry one morning at breakfast. "Why?"

Hermione had exchanged a look with Harry before she took a breath and answered sincerely, "I owe him an apology. I did something… misjudged him. And I'd like to apologize to his face. He deserves at least that."

Daphne had glared for only a moment before Harry had done nothing more than stroke one knuckle down her cheek and she had shrugged with a smile. "Sure. I mean, if you're up to something dishonest I'll just take it out of Harry's hide. And by that, I mean I'll not be _touching_ Harry's hide for an undisclosed amount of time. I'm sure he'll make certain you're on the up and up."

Harry had raised his eyebrows at Hermione. "See what a good friend I am? I'm trusting you not to cock block me."

Hermione had laughed and Harry and Daphne had joined in. Ginny Weasley glared from down the table but swiftly returned her attention to the sixth year on top of whose lap she was seated. Ron nudged Hermione to pass the pumpkin juice and "hey, can I have that sausage" and everything seemed like it might be alright.

Except of course her dreadful situation with the boy she loved dearly.

In the here and now, It's probably a short wait really, but it seems to take an eternity before a wrinkly house elf swings the door open and enquires, "Can Pipsy be of service, Miss?" She's waited weeks for this moment. What felt like hours outside on the front step, and now that it's here she pauses for a moment not believing she might finally see him.

Hermione blinks down at the elf. It doesn't even bring up its eyes to meet her. Poor thing is probably beaten and starved and told never to look directly at its betters. She offers a kind smile and says, "My name is Hermione. Hermione Granger."

Suddenly the eyes snap to hers and the little creature seems awed. It seems her reputation precedes her. "Pipsy, you said? It's a pleasure to meet you Pipsy. I wonder if you've ever heard of my campaign to strengthen the rights of-"

"Unnatural witch!" Hermione pulls back, standing up right and taking a step back from the threshold. "Evil witches will take Pipsy from his home! Oh foul, _nasty_ girl!" He covers his head with his hands and continues to shriek at her, begging for mercy in the face of her offending knit-ware.

Taking a step forward, she offers her hands, palms up in a nonthreatening stance, to sooth the elf. "No, no! I'm not here to take you away, Pipsy. I promise, I'm not going to do anything-"

The elf's protests and Hermione's placations are interrupted by a drawl from across the entry way. The voice echoes against the high ceilings and marble floors and both Hermione and the elf fall silent.

Lucius Malfoy, aged since she met him and leaning more heavily on his cane, still cuts an imposing figure. His voice is clear even as it is dangerous and low as he had agrees, "Correct, Miss Granger, you will not be taking my elf anywhere." He continues to move closer, taking strong, deliberate steps. His need for the cane seems to be less and less as he approaches, bringing himself to his full height and locking eyes with his unexpected guest.

"Mister Malfoy," she begins, but gets no farther as he speaks.

"This is indeed a surprise, Miss Granger. I'd not have thought you'd venture here again after your last... unfortunate visit."

Her eyes narrow. She doesn't care for his haughty and condescending tone, nor his obvious attempts at intimidation. "I assure you I could do with never making a return trip."

"So leads us to the obvious question: Why have you come?" He's now standing fully in front of her, the house elf having made itself scarce in deference of his master. They are nearly toe to toe, each on their respective side of the door frame, both holding their postures tall; like a couple of puffed up birds trying to make themselves seem larger than they are.

"I've come for Draco, if you would please let him know I'm here."

The look on his face, if Hermione lives to see two hundred years, is one she will surely remember. Incredulity and surprise on his normally polished and stoic features is enough to make her nearly stifle a giggle. It quickly morphs, however, into cold fury.

"Why could you possible need to see my son? I do not appreciate his being under continued scrutiny. He did not finish his year but we were assured by the Minister himself that he would not see any additional charges. I don't know who you represent, some Muggleborn reparations committee I'm sure _you_ dreamed up, but you will not use my heir as your scapegoat to further whatever political aspirations-"

"Wait just a moment!" Hermione holds out her hands and waves them in the universal sign for 'slow the bloody hell down'. "I'm not here to... to... bring complaint. I just want to _talk_ to him."

Lucius eyes her curiously before he seems to decide and shakes his head. "I'm afraid, Miss Granger, I am under no obligation to let you into my home. If you would please..." He gestures behind her, indicating she should make her way elsewhere.

Hermione digs in her feet and lifts her chin. "I didn't expect you to be hospitable. It's fortunate for me I came to see the Lord of the manor. According to Ministry records, in light of your incarceration, that is _not_ you."

It's all she can do not to look smug as his eye twitches. His piercing grey eye, so similar to Draco. "Shall I call for the house elf?" She asks. "Pipsy?"

The elf pops back in, looking wary between the witch and wizard. "Pipsy doesn't want any trouble miss. Pipsy certainly wants no hats! No hats!"

"I'm fresh out of hats, Pipsy. I'm a guest at the manor who has come to see your master. I request you inform him I'm here. I'm happy to wait at the door."

The little thing groans and hangs his head. "No..." he sighs, "is not proper. Guests never to wait outside." He gestures with his thin arm to the right limply. "If miss would please follow Pipsy," he requests, resigned.

Shouldering past Draco's rather irate father, she follows in the elf's wake and says as pleasantly as possible, "Thank you so much for your hospitality. I'll be sure to mention to your master how aptly you serve him."

Well, that perks his large ears right up. He murmurs an awed "thank you" as he leads her into a small sitting room. Small, she assumes by the standards of the manor. Nowhere near as large as the virtual ballroom where she met her torture, but still as large as any room in her parents not-unimpressive home.

She represses a shudder, remembering the drawing room. It is one moment a grand spectacle, crystal chandelier glancing tiny prisms on the marble floor, and the next moment in her memory, a mess of broken shards and her blood staining the floor.

"Pipsy will inform Master." The elf is away with a Pop! and Hermione busies herself with scanning the knick knacks in the room. Knick knacks, she considers, that are probably in actual fact, priceless antiques and heirlooms. She takes a seat on a silk upholstered bergere. Its companion sits on the other side of a high table with intricately carved legs and an inlaid top. Fresh flowers, Narcissus, fill the room in vases that she is more than aware will not be reproductions.

She waits for what feels like another rather long time. Finally she hears the click of expensive shoes on the floor approaching the room. It's not Lucius. The sound of the elder Malfoy's gait is given away by the clink of his cane tip and the unsteady delay of his leg. She likewise doubts it's Narcissa, not having the delicate quality of a lady in heels. Hermione feels her throat tighten and her breath quicken and the result of which is she feels she is not supplying enough oxygen to her brain and, Sweet Merlin, what is she going to say?

She stands then, staring at the door as it starts to open and right back where she started: Fidgeting.

 **A/N**

 **So I said this story would end this weekend but I forgot in my calculations that I am flying to Baltimore today so it looks like we will stretch into next week a little. Hopefully the updates are fixed and you are reading this! Next update should hit Sunday. Please favor me with some reviews in the meantime? I look forward to hearing from you! Thank you so much for your kind words and support thus far!**


	22. Chapter 22

**PSA: Once again, please be sure you are caught up on previous chapters since the FF notification system went down. This is chapter 22. The manor from Draco's perspective :)**

Draco has a perfect view of the manor gates from the more exposed portion of his private wing. His parents occupy the other side of the manor, in a nearly separate estate. Growing up, he had sometimes been lonely and a little frightened. He knew the house elves would be there in a blink, of course, if he needed something, but little boys sometimes just want their mum.

Now he's standing at the tall window of his private parlour, staring down at the bushy mane of a most vexing lioness. He'd been in his rooms, transferring the last of his private books to the library when he felt the wards shift at the edge of the grounds.

It's been weeks. After his last message from that blasted pen, which he had come to regret ever gifting her, he had heard not a word from her. The stages of grief for the end of his first love have progressed swiftly to anger and arrested there, never quite reaching the blessed "acceptance" he was still hoping for.

The only certainty he had felt, was that it was well and truly over. The little chit hadn't even tried to talk to him again. No charmed messages, no owls (he visited the owlery every morning before the rest of the house stirred), no floo calls (the house elves were under instruction to report every floo that came in, under the pretense the Minister was to be in touch with the official date of his freedom).

Yesterday, Kingsley Shaklebolt had finally contacted him. Not by floo or owl, but personally, standing in the very spot where his cursed little Gryffindor stands now. He was freed, with no ceremony, only a word from the Minister and a congratulatory hand shake, hearty and sincere.

"I respect the efforts you are already making, Mr. Malfoy. I look forward to knowing you under more pleasant circumstances in the future," he had said. Draco had thanked him, and he'd meant it. He was, and is, fully aware that the old codgers of the Wizengamot would have gladly seen his soul sucked from his mouth and his body tossed into Azkaban to deteriorate into little more than a husk. He still has nightmares, waking in cold sweat, where his fate was exactly that.

He hasn't even told his parents yet; hasn't spoken to them, come to think of it, since the previous morning. His mother will be relieved to know he is free. He had thought to announce it at dinner.

Now, a free wizard, master of his proverbial _and_ fairly literal castle, he's looking down at Hermione Granger with absolutely no idea why she would come and what she will say. Nor, in fact, what he might possibly say in return.

"Master, is Pipsy to be answering the door?"

"Let her wait a moment. If it's important, she'll wait." He pauses then determines, "Four more minutes."

He doesn't turn to look at the elf, continuing to stare down, watching her shift from foot to foot. After four minutes, she hasn't moved and he nods, still watching, "Go on then, Pipsy. Ask her what she wants."

He hears the elf Snap! Itself away and sees her demeanor change, indicating the door has opened. There seems to be a short exchange in which she, first, steps forward, and then back again, gesticulating wildly with her hands.

 _What in the name of Merlin had Pipsy said- oh. House elf._

Draco can't help but grin a little.

He watches as she disappears from view, obviously gaining access to the house. He half thought Pipsy might not allow her entry unless he directly commanded it. He's not entirely sure if it's relief or dread that floods his heart, but he sighs when he hears Pipsy Pop! back in, and turns to face the elf.

"Well?"

"Miss Hermione Granger, sir, is asking to see Master."

"Where have you stowed her," he inquires, straightening his cuffs in preparation.

"Pipsy is placing Master's guest in the small receiving parlour. Miss Hermione Granger promises no hats, Master. Please do not allows her to gives us hats." The little elf is trembling and Draco pats him on the head as he passes by.

"No hats, Pipsy. I promise."

He hears Pipsy sigh a relieved, "Thank you," as he strides from the room.

The walk to the receiving room is a relatively short one, in relation to the overall size of the manor. Draco takes his time, walking carefully, purposefully, _loudly_ , across the entry way. His shoes click smartly on the polished stone and he gives his tie one last tug, letting it settle into the same perfect position it had already been.

The door to the sitting room is shut. He wants to stand there and collect himself. He wants to stand and breathe and control his emotions and mask his face, but he made such a show of walking loudly to sound confident and intimidating that he doesn't have the luxury to hesitate. Instead, he places two fingers delicately in the groove and slides the pocket door open, imagining there is nothing more important on the other side than tea with his mother.

Instead he finds a wide eyed Gryffindor witch, wringing her hands.

"Granger." He nods to her, trying for a detached politeness, and approaches, offering his hand.

She looks at it, confused, before offering her own, tilted to the side as if he would shake it like a muggle. Draco chalks that up as just another way muggles have no appreciation for finery. He swiftly tilts it and brings her fingertip to his lips, brushing against them as briefly and with as little pressure as possible, before letting her hand drop and gesturing to the seat that, if the loose curls of hair on the back are any indication, she had just vacated.

"Won't you please sit?"

She looks down as if she's forgotten what the chair was for. "What? Oh! Yes. Yes, thank you." She's the most nervous he's ever seen. Far more than when she asked Potter to bed her in the middle of a forest, exceptionally more so than when she forced him into joint study sessions, and incredibly more than when she turned up in his room in the middle of the night to, he has long since assumed, prove to herself he really wasn't Gregory Be-Damned Goyle.

Draco swishes his wand casually at the matching chair and spells it to spin a few degrees in her direction. The affect is a less Feng Shui design to the room, but a more appropriate view of his guest for a conversation.

He can do this. He's doing so well, in his own opinion. He's polite and aloof and absolutely not affected by those warm brown eyes and soft, flawless skin. He's completely in control and not at all staring at her tight muggle trousers, hugging her thighs, or that strange muggle shirt that embraces her neck but leaves her shoulders bare.

Completely in control.

"Can I offer you a drink? Refreshments?"

The look on her face is almost enough to destroy his heart and cut through his façade. Melt it or break it or shatter it, but destroy nonetheless.

"I didn't come for pleasantries, Draco."

Ah, right to it then.

"Then why have you come, _Granger_?" He hits her last name hard, making it perfectly clear he will not be calling her Hermione with this face.

She huffs and screws up her lips. "I came because it's the only way you will talk to me!"

Draco shrugs and snaps his fingers. Pipsy is at his side in a moment with a glass in his spindly hand. "Thank you," he says offhandedly and turns back to his-

No, not his.

Turns back to the witch in question. "I might have. You could have tried an owl."

"If you wouldn't talk to me in a notebook, how would I believe you'd answer an owl?" She's looking at him, her eyes begging for something but he's not sure what.

"So in true Gryffindor fashion," he sneers, "you thought you'd charge in here and take what you wanted?"

Hermione opens her mouth to reply then closes it again. This repeats twice more and then she moves to stand, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her pants. "Maybe this was a mistake."

"You seem to be quite the champion at those of late." He stays seated, foregoing any gentlemanly obligation to see the lady to stand. He has one leg crossed over the other, a casual and masculine stance, and he's leaned back in the chair with his head lolled a little to one side, looking at her askance.

"Yes," she bites out. "It seems I may have made a lot of mistakes. Not the least of which, forgetting just who you are."

She goes to storm past him and Draco jumps to his feet, dropping his glass and grabbing her arm. The firewhiskey sizzles and smokes on his mother's favorite Persian rug and he absolutely cannot bring himself to care.

"And who am I then? You seem to have a lot of theories about that, none of which are that I'm Draco fucking Malfoy."

She wrenches her arm away and takes a step back, still glaring but he sees that sheen on her eyes of watery glass. "You're a foul git, Malfoy. A selfish, temperamental git without even a _piece_ of a heart-"

At that he laughs. What would she know about his heart? He thought it was functioning perfectly well until she crushed it in her delicate hand.

"You're right, of course. But then aren't you always? I am selfish and temperamental. I selfishly thought I connected with someone only to discover she thought I was someone else. That left me far too temperamental for her delicate sensibilities. As for my fucking heart? You're right yet again, I don't have one of those. It didn't survive the utter evisceration by an equally heartless witch." His voice is low and dangerous and he steps into her space, glaring down at her and forcing her to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

"I would advise, Miss Granger, that this meeting has come to an end. I will have Pipsy show you out. It seems my selfish tendencies do not obligate me to do so." He snaps his fingers once again, not breaking his gaze from her face, and hears the Crack! of Pipsy's entrance.

"Pipsy, Miss Granger is leaving. Please do not dally escorting her off the grounds."

Hermione looks shell shocked and Draco doesn't move, not so much as a twitch, as Pipsy takes her hand and starts to pull her away. He keeps his eyes cold and his body rigid, following her movement with what he hopes looks to her a complete lack of interest.

Once Pipsy has completely pulled her from the room, however, he falls back down into a chair and hangs his head in his hands, pulling at his bangs to the roots with his fingers as his palms rub his forehead. His breath shudders and he looks up just once to stare after her, looking with longing at the empty doorway, before squeezing his eyes shut and giving over to the despair that drags his face back into his splayed hands.

 **A/N Poor Draco... it seems I wasn't done with him quite yet... aren't you glad I didn't leave it HERE before my 2 day break? :) Chapter 23 tomorrow. Please please drop me a review! And thank you to all of you for reading and following and adding this to your favorites!**


	23. Chapter 23

What just happened?

Hermione finds herself being led by the bent, long fingers of a determined house elf, marching her through the front door and down the grand entrance to the Malfoy gates. Finally, shaking her stunned head, she pulls up short and yanks her hand from the elf.

"No. I'm not finished," she says, determined. "I need to go back." She turns to retreat the way she has come when she feels her feet root beneath her. It throws off her balance and she pitches forward, taking a knee.

"Apologies, Miss, but Master tells Pipsy to be escorting his guest from the manor. Pipsy is needing to ask Miss Granger to please come this way."

She rights herself and turns back to the elf, finding her feet mobile once again. "Pipsy, I appreciate that you are following his request, but I really have to speak to him again. I'm not… I didn't get to say what I came to say."

The little elf pulls at his ears and shifts his eyes, searching for answers. "Pipsy is a good elf, Miss. Pipsy is needing to follow instructions from Master. Perhaps if Miss would like to give Pipsy a message for Master?"

She shakes her head and drops back to her knee, purposefully this time. "You're a very good elf. But I really must insist. This is a message that must be delivered in person. Please, take me back to Draco and I'll…" She searches her mind, her eyes darting about just as the elf's had a moment ago. Finally she lands on, "…and I'll never knit another elf hat unless expressly requested by an elf who wants it. No more campaigning to elves who don't invite it. You're happy, right, Pipsy?"

He nods at her, warily.

"You're happy because Master treats you nicely, right?" She had noticed, even through everything, distracted as she was by her own anger and heartache, that Draco had thanked the elf for his drink, almost as a reflex, obviously a common occurrence. "He treats you nice and I'm sure he trusts your judgment. I have something important for your Master that I really must deliver in person. I just forgot before we said goodbye. Please, Pipsy, it's _so_ important."

She's looking at him with earnest eyes and somewhere down deep understands the absurdity of Hermione Granger, champion of house elf rights, begging and manipulating a subservient elf.

The elf sighs in resignation. "You must promises to be quick. Master is very busy." She nods readily and follows the elf who is grumbling adorably as they make their ascent back to the house.

Casually she asks, "Where is your Master's part of the house? His private suite, I mean. I've really only been in the Drawing Room…" She hopes the elf doesn't know the circumstances under which she had seen any of the house previously. He's a clever creature. It could make her motives suspect if he realized her history with the family he serves.

He points his thin arm up and to the left to the second floor. "Those windows… that's Master's suite. Since Master was more tiny than Pipsy."

She grins at that, her spat with Malfoy disappearing once again as it always does when she thinks of him fondly. How he can so infuriate her in person, yet make her long for him when he's away, is possibly the most perplexing thing she's ever experienced. Her head understands that his outburst was born of self-preservation more than anything. She hurts him and he lashes out. Unfortunately, Hermione is terribly stubborn and, dammit all, Harry was right: She hates being wrong. She's fought against herself every step of the way but this time…

This time will be different. This time he's not going to shut her down with coldness or cruelty. This time she's going to remember Harry's advice, young sage that he is (at least compared to her miserable understanding of the human condition) and make this right.

"If Miss would please wait again?" The elf gestures to the same room in which she sat before.

"Of course. Thank you for escorting me. You can go on ahead and fetch Draco."

The elf eyes her suspiciously and then nods, popping away once again.

The moment he's gone, Hermione is racing up the stairs, finding the top and then halting in frustration, trying to imagine from her knowledge of the outside structure of the house where she needs to go to find him. The stairs twist and curl as they rise, depositing her at a different direction than where she started. Peering down, it's easy enough to figure out which way was the previous "left" pointed out by Pipsy. She turns and chooses the hallway most situated to the front of the manor and jogs down until she's at an opulent door toward the end of the hall. The door is ever so slightly ajar. Not enough to see, but enough to listen.

Draco sighs and seems to repeat, "Pipsy, I'm not angry at you. She's a devious witch-"

"Unnatural," Pipsy agrees with fervor.

"Completely. Like no other witch on earth. I understand she made you believe this was the right choice. I'm not angry- put that down! Do not hit yourself with that vase!... Good man. Now, please tell Miss Granger I'm out of time to visit today and escort her away. No matter what she says, just please, I need-"

He stops and when he starts again, the faint shake that had started to be present in his voice is gone and he sounds determined once again. "I need you to be sure she is gone from the premises this time."

"Yes, Master. Right away, Master." Hermione hears the crack and peers inside, carefully pushing the door open.

She finds him, standing by the insanely tall window, looking down at what she assumes would be the front grounds. His forehead is leaned against the cool glass and his hands braced on either side of the frame.

She sneaks into the room, studying him as she does. In his stance she can _see_ her Jack, whoever that is. In the tense hold of his shoulder, she can imagine the boy she fell for, so often stressed during their days in school. In his stance, she can envision him peering down on the Hogwarts grounds while she minds a potion, the weight of his body, shifted onto his right leg while the left perches nearly on his toes…

In the grip of his fingers on the frame, telling of his distress all the while trying to keep his demeanor casual.

In the tilt of his head, the way he used to tilt it to analyze her, just barely to one side as he peers down

In the quick motion of his hand sweeping through his hair, leaving it tousled, and rubbing the back of his neck before returning to the frame.

She realizes then, that up until this very moment, she'd not been entirely convinced it really was _him_. That he had really been hers. Her Jack.

She takes another step forward, quiet as any mouse.

"I'm so sorry," she says, nearly choking on the bitter realization. And, perhaps for the first time, she _truly_ means it.

He startles and whirls on her, eyes wide then blazing. "How did you get up here?"

In that moment, of course, Pipsy is back, spouting apologies. "Master! Pipsy apologies, Master! Pipsy will punish himself straight away!" He stops yelling in anguish as soon as he sees the two of them staring at each other over his head.

"It's alright, Pipsy. Miss Granger, you might know, is a stubborn Gryffindor with a streak of brave stupidity. I'm sure you did your best but there's just nothing for it."

She stiffens at his comment, ready to shout back about snakes and slimy prats and then stops.

This is where they always are. She closes her eyes and sees Jack, his playful grin at a tilt, tell her the same. He says, "stubborn Gryffindor" with that velvet voice that used to purr in her ear and her world stops on its axis once again.

She takes a breath and says again, "I'm so sorry, Draco."

"So you've said," he sneers. As an afterthought he sighs and flicks a wrist at Pipsy. "Go on then. I'll see her out when we've finished." Pipsy can't pop away fast enough it seems. By the time she glances over to thank him for escorting her, he's already gone.

"You're very sweet to him."

"Yes, I imagine you thought I'd lock him in a stockade for his failure. Not very sympathetic of you to put him in that position with how little you think of me."

"I don't-" She stops. She doesn't think that of Jack, but Draco...

"Maybe I did think that way. I mean, with the way your father treated Dobby-"

"I'm not my fucking father," he forces out through grinding teeth.

"You seemed to want to be," she says gently, no accusation. "But that was _before_. I don't want to talk about before." She dares a step closer only to see him shift his weight one step away. She dares another. "I want to talk about now."

He masks discomfort behind a weary sigh. Another Jack specialty she remembers from early in their friendship. " _Now_ is time for you to leave, Granger."

Another step and a shake of her head. "No. I made a terrible mistake."

"Yes, forgetting who I truly am," he throws her words back at her.

She nods in agreement, but not in the way he means. "I did. I forgot. As soon as I saw your face I forgot this past year and just remembered the bad things. The sneers and the slurs and-" She stops herself, hand almost unconsciously flying to her forearm where her scar is on display in her sleeveless top.

She takes a fortifying breath and then… another step. "I forgot I came here for Jack. I forgot I came here for you."

"There is no Jack," he spits. Another step back and now he is nearly at the window once again. She has him caged. Right now, she feels like a lion indeed.

"Jack is just a label. A name for those parts of you I was never allowed to see before." Another step and now she is gaining ground, pushing her advantage.

"Jack is some foreign muggle with a hole in his memory and a really poor haircut."

She laughs softly. She can't help it. "I liked his hair." He starts to protest but she doesn't give him a chance. "I like yours better. Always have."

That shuts him right up.

Another step.

He looks nervous now and it makes her feel like she's prowling. Stalking.

"I was going to come here and tell you to let me talk, that you never let me say what I think. When you shut me out of your room, when you dismissed my message… but I've realized I never say what I want to because I get lost. I _let_ you shut me out. Shut me down. Because I was afraid I guess… of what I might find."

Another step.

"Granger…" It's half warning, half plea and she completely ignores it.

"I know you, Draco. You think I don't… In fact you almost convinced me of that. I was so afraid you might be right, but I _do_. I _know_ you. I certainly know you well enough to realize I'm about one step too close for your comfort. I'm about one step away from you considering calling Pipsy back to magic me out of your house. I know you're going to have to make that choice when I move again."

She eyes him intently, holding her breath and then,

Another step.

He doesn't move and she can breathe again. She could nearly touch him.

"I won't say I don't care who you are. That's an insult to us both. I care who you are and I've thought a lot about it."

"And to what conclusion have you come then?" He seems to have found his voice again. Hard and cold on the surface but something else, buried underneath the slippery quicksand of his front. Nervousness and fear and maybe even hope are the bedrock in his tone.

"I've reached the conclusion that I like me better when I'm with you. I've decided that I was completely stupid to let you walk away and not fight harder. And I've learned that being without you is far worse than any jab you can throw to push me away."

Another step. Now she can touch him but she doesn't. She waits.

"Please don't push me away again," she says softly, whispering the prayer with less predator, more prey, handing the power back to him. "Please don't… I miss you," she confesses, closing her eyes. "Let me know you now. As you. As Draco. Please don't hate me."

"You stupid witch," he growls and she flinches at the anger in it, ready to retreat, but then his hands are on her face, thumbs achingly gentle as they circle beneath her eyes. His gaze is steady and dark but his hands are soft as velvet. "You know don't you? Fuck, Granger, how could you not know?"

"Know?" Her breath is coming faster and she aches to reach up, to lay her hands over his.

"You can't possibly believe I hate you, you stupid girl. I love you so much it makes me want to fucking die."

She chances it now: Daring to believe him even as the doubt has been enough to consume her for weeks. Another step, pushing her frame almost flush with his and reaching her hands to petal around his own. "I told Pipsy I had something for you."

His eyes search hers and he's about to respond, she believes, but she cuts him off. Leaning up, she is so close his bangs tickle her eyelashes and she whispers a soft, "this", as she brushes her lips against his.

He doesn't move and neither does she until finally she starts to lose her nerve, almost ready to pull away, and then his lips close over hers. Immediately she wants more. That tiny permission, that small act on his part, infuses her with bravery and she pushes herself closer, tracing the seam of his mouth with her tongue, and invading the moment his lips part. Her hands move away from the gentle blanketing of his fingers over her cheeks and plunge into his hair, pulling at the roots and trying to bring him closer.

Another half step and she is completely pressed against him and his hands circle her and she knows a relief so complete she can't imagine anything more sublime.

Hermione breaks the kiss only to whisper, her lips tickling his as she does, "I've missed you, Draco." She swallows the groan he breathes and allows him to drag her into his embrace, wrapping her leg around his, climbing him like a tree.

Happiness suffuses her to the bone, seeping into her very marrow. She sighs against him and feels his tongue lap at hers. Lost as she is, she doesn't hear the footsteps approach or Pipsy's squealed, "Pipsy is sorry, Master. Pipsy explained you were…entertaining."

All she knows is life is a beautiful portrait of everything she ever wanted until she hears a gasp and, "Draco, what is this?"

Her love pulls away from her and she gazes up in fear of the rejection she had known could come, had almost resigned herself to, just as he shifts his eyes from her face releasing his hold from around her, and lifts a brow in question.

"Can I help you, Mother?"

 **A/N**

 **So most everyone who reviewed seems to be falling into two camps:**

 **Team Hermione thinks Draco is being a twat and needs to apologize**

 **Team Draco thinks Hermione's not trying that hard after she destroyed him**

 **I hope both camps are ok with the progress :)**

 **Thank you all, like, a BILLION times for your amazing reviews and for SO MANY of you following! I hope as the story comes to a close that those follows might turn into favorites :) I'm so looking forward to reading your reviews on this one! Please click that little button below and tell me what you think!**


	24. Chapter 24

"I… I apologize, my darling. Your father mentioned we had a guest."

Hermione keeps holding her breath, looking up into Draco's face, when he steps around her, gently pushing her to face his mother.

 _This is it_ , she thinks. This is where I lose him. Not for drama and misunderstandings, but for logistics. They wasted so much time fighting over their emotions, she had nearly forgotten the impossibility of Draco Malfoy being involved with a muggleborn. And now it seems Lucius, having failed to deter her, has sent his wife to appeal to their heir.

"I am entertaining a guest, yes. I don't believe you've been introduced. Mother, this is the infamous Hermione Granger."

Narcissa sniffs. "Infamous. Yes. Well your reputation does certainly proceed you."

"As does yours, Mrs. Malfoy."

The woman looks at her with a discerning expression before she looks back at Draco with an eyebrow raised. "Is she…?"

"The reason for my recent distress? Oh, you can't imagine the half of it. She is terribly distressing."

And then he's looking at her with a grin. A smile that looks like Jack but is all Draco and she lowers her lashes, smiling shyly back. Narcissa studies them intently.

A quiet blankets the inhabitants of the room, each waiting for the result of the game. Finally, Narcissa is the one to speak and she claps her hands together once, having reached a decision. "Well then, you'll be staying for tea, won't you, Miss Granger?"

"I…" She looks at Draco with wide eyes and he meets her with a seemingly perplexed gaze of his own.

"Draco, you didn't even invite her for tea? Where is the man I raised? Pipsy!"

The elf, who was actually still in the room, listening patiently, flinches at her raised voice but answers nonetheless. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Oh. How convenient of you. Thank you for waiting. Miss Granger is joining us for tea. In the solarium of course. I want the elfin crystal brought out."

"Yes, Mistress."

"We will enjoy tea in twenty minutes. We require cucumber sandwiches… you _do_ like cucumber sandwiches, Miss Granger?"

"What? Oh! I mean yes. I'm quite fond of cucumber, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Excellent. Come along then Pipsy. The children will join us promptly."

"Yes, Mistress."

The elf is following Narcissa from the room, her head high and her robes billowing around her. Hermione looks over to Draco once again and finds him grinning from ear to ear.

He winks at her before sweeping her back up into his embrace. Hermione squeaks and grips his neck tightly to keep her balance.

"I think maybe, Mother approves of you, Granger."

She starts to smile back in answer and then corrects him, "Hermione. I rather miss you using my name."

"Hermione then. Now that you've _finally_ learned mine," he says with exaggerated frustration.

She starts to protest but then he kisses her again and she loses the thread of her thoughts.

They are late for tea. Narcissa is hospitable and Lucius seems to pout through the whole affair. She still presumes he had sent Narcissa after them in a last ditch effort to control the goings-on in his household. He seems to now be coming to grips with the idea that he doesn't have that much power left. She finds it interesting how easily he must have conceded. Narcissa presses a comforting hand to his knee on occasion which always seems to soothe him.

After they run out of polite topics, the small talk starting to become stretched awkward silences, Draco takes Hermione to walk the grounds of the manor. They snuggle into alcoves and kiss under flowering trees. The more he talks the more she hears his voice mimicking the cadence of her Jack, filling the spaces between them with the same flavor in his voice.

Draco is her Jack. She sees it plainly and she tells him again and again how stupid she was until finally he breathes hot against her neck that it doesn't matter. That he adores her anyway and will she please stop talking so he can kiss her?

They are late for dinner as well.

During the final course, he announces his freedom, official, legal, and hand-delivered by Minister Shacklebolt. Hermione is shocked to see the infamously stoic Narcissa weep openly in relief and Lucius Malfoy, former Death Eater and attempted murderer of children, rise to hold his wife gently. He wraps himself around her shaking frame, stroking her hair, and Draco reaches under the table to find Hermione's hand.

She looks at him and smiles. "Can I visit tomorrow," she asks?

His grin is wicked and it makes her shiver in an absolutely brilliant way. "Did you think I was going to let you leave? Pipsy's already made up a room."

He looks up to find his parents separating, his mother wiping her eyes. "Mother, Father, if you will excuse us. It's growing so late for Miss Granger to travel, I thought I'd offer her the Blue Room for the night."

His mother waves him away, dabbing at her eyes. "Yes, yes, it was a pleasure, Miss Granger. I hope you might join us in the morning for a light breakfast?"

Hermione agrees with a nod and polite gratitude before she follows Draco from the room.

They walk a long corridor, past the room where Draco had watched her at the door, to the end of the hall. Two rooms stand side by side. From the vantage of the doorway, she can see one is decorated in blues of all hues with dark wood trim. The other is a near match in design but in shades of red.

"You didn't want to give me the Gryffindor red room?" She teases, rubbing his hand with her thumb.

"Actually yes, but I wasn't going to say that to my mother."

She looks at him in question. "Afraid she would find that cliché?"

Draco laughs at that and tugs her toward him and toward the red room. "No, because it's _mine_. But now that we're here? Yes, fuck yes, I'm going to invite you to stay here."

His gaze is digging behind her eyes and she could curl up into the silver of his.

Suddenly his entire demeanor changes and she knows this Jack. This _Draco_. This man that is not as confident as he seems and altogether more unsure than he would admit.

"If you want to, I mean. Maybe you think it's too soon to ask. I don't even care if we… I mean we don't have to… I just want to be with you. Sleep near you… Stay with me?"

Accepting her role as the lioness, accepting that for right now she is the strong one between them, she releases his hand to step past him into the red room. She marches half way in and does a quick sweep, taking in the Quidditch memorabilia and antique furnishings and…

"Stuffed dragons?"

He follows her in and shuts the door behind them quietly. Glancing to where her own eyes are locked, he shrugs. "Namesake. What do you buy a child who has everything that goes by Draco?" He shrugs in answer to the rhetorical question then answers it. "Dragons."

She giggles. "And you've kept them?"

"I'm terribly possessive about my things." The implication is obvious and completely enticing that he means _her_.

Then he smiles, full and broad, and it's more stunning than Jack's ever was. Jack's smile that she always knew was only a mask. Jack's smile in his handsome tanned face that had made her breath catch for the affection in it.

Jack's smile has _nothing_ on the devastation that is Draco Malfoy's natural grin. "Merlin, you're handsome."

The grin slips and she's afraid she's done something wrong.

"Hermione… are you sure? I need-" He stops himself and searches the ceiling for life's answers. "I need you to be sure because I don't think I'll survive it if you're not. You broke Jack's heart you know. I only have one left."

Hermione looks him over and then steps to him again, taking his hand. "I'm sure." She lifts his knuckles to her lips and kisses the back of his hand, lips parted slightly in promise. "Are you?"

"Merlin, fuck, _yes_ ," he hisses back and then suddenly he has her flung beneath him on his bed and he's kissing her hard. Kissing her with that perfect mouth and caressing her with his large, pale hands and grinding his pelvis against her thigh as she whimpers and moans into his mouth.

"Is it alright," he whispers, desperate. "Is it alright that it's me?"

She tries to nod or agree but in the end all she can manage is a moan when he suckles the skin of her neck. She wants to tell him he's everything to her; that it's more than alright that it's him, but all she can do is sigh when he lifts her shirt over her head to lathe one nipple gently with his tongue. He seems to accept her arching back and clutching hands as a declaration.

She has so much to say and she wants him to know that she sees him. Just him. Like she tried to assure him before when he wore Jack's face. Instead she can only arch and pant and beg when he slides inside her and then she's at his ear, his face buried in her neck and she's clinging to him as she promises over and over, "I love you. I love you, Draco. Oh, God, I love you."

After, curled into him as he strokes her hair, Hermione finally lets her own paranoia show, having spent so much time assuaging his. "Is it alright that it's me?" She asks quietly. _Is it alright that I'm a muggleborn? Is it alright that we've been on opposite sides of everything our whole lives?_ There's more to her question, just as there had been more to his, and they are both fully aware.

The hand stroking her hair pauses and then continues. "Ridiculous Gryffindor," he mutters fondly. "With whom could I possibly confuse you, with this hair?"

She huffs but, hearing the smile in his voice, cuddles tighter into the crook of his arm. She feels herself start to drift, awash in the possibilities of a life that includes Draco Malfoy's in tandem with her own.

Her breathing is steady and deep and she lets herself start to fall into fantasy and dreams and then he says, "I love you, Hermione," and the dreams and fantasies and hope suddenly just taste like the future.

~End~

 **A/N**

 **Sort of the end... I have a little epilogue for tomorrow**

 **Aren't they cute :) Thank you all so much for taking this little trip with me. It's always a little sad to reach the end but I've had so much fun sharing this with you and talking with you about it as you review. I hope you will give me a couple last rounds of reviews for this chapter and the next.**

 **You have made this such a pleasure. This is the part where the cast bows to you :)**


	25. Chapter 25

"Wait… _all_ of it? My entire Lladro collection… just… just _gone_?"

Hermione winces and shrugs apologetically. "I wasn't sure what else to do with it."

"I just…" Jean Granger stammers and her husband slides his arm around her.

"I'm sure we can piece it back together-" He tries to reassure.

"Many of them were retired, Frank! And my Spain exclusives… oh, Hermione."

"Sorry, Mum. I… I didn't think…" Hermione starts to break down all over again.

It has been all of two hours since she was able to find her parents and, with the help of Narcissa Malfoy, restore their memories of her and their old life. Narcissa, she has learned through the ordeal, is a surprisingly adept Legilimens (and still has a few questionable books on old magicks even after the ministry raid).

The Grangers accepted the realities of what Hermione had done with patience and understanding, the three of them crying into each other's shoulders and Hermione apologizing over and again. It has only been a matter of months since Hermione finished her school year. She had nearly accepted she was forever orphaned until Narcissa overhead a conversation with Draco and stepped in.

Hermione's parents told her they believed she had acted out of love and a sense of responsibility to protect them. They are proud of her for her part in a difficult situation, they said. Though her father, choking on emotion, had professed it was supposed to be his job to protect _her_ which had set them all crying yet again.

After a bit of tea to calm all their nerves and to make formal introductions, the details are starting to come to light. Jean can easily accept anything it seems: Her lost dental practice, her abrupt move, the donating of her wardrobe and fine china and most of her jewelry…anything, that is, except for her collection of Spanish figurines.

She wraps her arms around her daughter and pats her back to show forgiveness, but silently she mouths to her husband over Hermione's head, "my honeymoon figure!"

For his part, Hermione's father chuckles and drops a kiss on his wife's temple. "I'll have to start buying you more I suppose. It was getting hard to surprise you anyway."

Jean sighs and concedes, hugging Hermione tighter and then pulling a way, wiping the tears off her daughter's checks with her thumbs. "Now, no more of that," she says, determined to change the subject. "I want to hear everything about this handsome young man and his lovely mother." She looks up at Narcissa and smiles.

Narcissa nods in response and polite acceptance of the compliment. No one had been more surprised than Hermione by Draco's mother and her easy acceptance of their relationship. Though, when Hermione had thought about it, the woman lied directly to the Dark Lord himself to get to her son. She will go to any lengths, it seems, to secure his safety and happiness. Accepting the witch who makes him smile had not been a hard choice.

"I look forward to knowing the people who raised this extraordinary witch who has so enraptured my son. Lucius is preparing a room for you at the manor. You are always welcome."

Lucius had pouted and sputtered a little when he was given the task, but there is not much he doesn't concede to now to keep his wife happy. Not to mention, loathe he might be to admit, he's quite _fond_ of Hermione. She even helped him finish his last model ship, procuring for him the finest in muggle model building materials and tools. A complicated beast, The Sovereign of the Seas, was a long project over which she was able to bond with the elder Malfoy.

Hermione now knows that Lucius has a sweet tooth to rival his son, he is tempted into submission by a sincere love of his wife, and he only builds model ships because he's too embarrassed to admit what he really wanted was a muggle car. Hermione is plotting with Narcissa for Christmas. He may still be under house arrest, but the manor grounds are quite vast. Plenty enough to tool around in a motor vehicle.

Hermione only worries for the safety of the manor Peacocks. They are still working out the logistics.

Draco has been quite reserved since they arrived, hanging to the back and nervous as to her parents' reaction. His first concern was that they would not forgive her for so drastically altering their lives. Lucius may turn in to a bit of a pussycat for his wife (and perhaps even a little for Hermione), but he always made his displeasure known if Draco stepped out of line. He assumed it was simply a parent's instinct to chastise their children. It seems the Grangers are more forgiving than he could have guessed. He had watched their group embrace with a little longing, thinking of his emotionally proper family in contrast.

Mostly, however, he had been nervous as to their acceptance of _him_.

Hermione looks back at him now and smiles, addressing her parents. "I can't wait for you to get to know him. He's so much more than a pretty face," she winks, offering her hand to him and pulling him forward to her side.

He's tricked into a grin as he accepts her hand and moves closer. Jean and Frank Granger are watching him with open smiles and kind eyes that strengthen his resolve. His arm slides around Hermione's waist and he finally feels brave enough to engage her parents in conversation.

"Yes, I'm quite the catch it seems. But," he adds cheekily, "let's start with the story of how you broke my heart." Looking down at her with nothing but affection, noting the way she screws up her perfect lips in mock annoyance, Draco winks back.

 **A/N**

 **One last giant "THANK YOU" to EACH and EVERY ONE of you! Your reviews and your faves and your follows truly make me smile every single day. I humbly ask for one more round. Was it a satisfying end? Did I earn a fave? Special thanks as always to you anon reviewers I can't talk to in a PM!**

 **If you are new to my little library but enjoyed this, please come on in, have a seat, see if anything strikes your fancy!**

 **Looking for another somewhat melancholy tale? Dreams of Requirement has a similar feel in tone to I Am Jack's Broken Heart**

 **A time trope with a unique twist? Love is Foolish is a concise telling of an epic plot, clocking in just under 20k words. I would LOVE to hear thoughts on that one!**

 **Would you enjoy some quick fluffy fun? My Dramione one shots and short stories are mostly easy reads with a little humor and, usually, a less melancholy Draco lol. Explicit Material seems to be a reader favorite. All I Want Is You (an exercise in sinking the Drarry ship in favor of Dramione) holds a special place for me. And The Pick-Up Artist is a little silly... but if you like 80s pop music you might get a particular kick out of it**

 **The Love Song of J. Argus Filch is NOT a crack fic. It's actually probably the saddest little thing I've written. **

**If you enjoy my older works, I'd love to hear from you!**

 **YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL AND I HEART YOU**


	26. Bonus Drabble

**I'm so excited tonight. I just found out this story is in the finals for a Spring 2017 Dramione Fanfiction Award! You can check out my tumblr for a link to voting if you are interested in such things**

 **So sometimes when a reviewer makes an observation or asks a question, I send not only a "thank you" but also a little conversation back. Sometimes, I'm inspired by a detail in a review.** **The 4 drabbles below are responses I sent to reviewers and decided to copy onto a document later.**

 **I thought they might be fun to share with the nomination announcement above.**

 **They are super raw and casual and were written on the spot so don't expect Shakespeare lol.**

 **I heart you guys :)**

* * *

 **In reference to the scene where Draco (Jack) takes Hermione dancing for Valentine's Day and he's sort of bad at it:**

I imagine him, a little boy with blond hair under his father's watchful eye, trying to keep up with an instructor, the finest money can buy, when really he just wants to go fly his new broom. But of course he made a deal: He could get the newest model of the Cloud Chaser but he needs to behave for Madame Pinkerton and,

Blast it all, stop that infernal fidgeting, boy! How will he function at all the Ministry events and pureblood balls and Charity galas if he can't even lead a witch in a proper waltz? The Greengrasses will expect much more than inheritance and breeding to give up one of their daughters in betrothal.

And, his mother pipes in, don't roll your eyes at your father, young man or I can march right back to Diagon and return that broom where I bought it.

Narcissa though, smiles in secret at the adorable pout on his face. There's no way she'd return the broom when it made him so happy...

* * *

 **One of those "10 years later" epilogues that I tend not to write except in my head:**

I mean, not to worry, I can promise in my head cannon they totally get married and, once Hermione has settled into her career and feels confident and secure socially, they decide to have a family and Draco is relieved because Narcissa has been just HOUNDING him for ages by this point and

"no, Mum, we are not ignoring your wishes and yes of course I want you to be young enough to enjoy your grandchildren. You're only 53 for Merlin's sake. A witch's life expectancy is 136!"

Hermione is mortified that he would name a child after a poisonous bug with a stinger but when she offers up obscure Shakespearean suggestions they are at an impasse. Harry suggests Albus, you know, after Dumbledore, and Hermione raises an eyebrow and asks who the hell would name a child THAT. Suddenly she thinks Scorpius doesn't sound too bad, but only if his middle name can be a nod to muggle literature. Draco compromises and Scorpius Othello Malfoy is the beginning of a new era in the formerly pureblooded family

* * *

 **Request for a Hermione/Cormac story which was prefaced by an apology for my incapability of cheating on Dramione (plus, there's silly song lyrics):**

"You'll be fine. I don't even know what you see in me, honestly. We have nothing in common."

"What about Breakfast at Tiffany's? Remember that film? That's one thing we've got."

Hermione rolls her eyes but concedes, "well we both kind of liked it... but that's not something to base a relationship on, Cormac."

"No," he sighs. "I suppose it's not."

They hug as they part and Hermione is left alone in the café, nursing a cup of sugar with a little coffee and cream.

"Granger?"

She looks up. Hermione hasn't seen Draco Malfoy in ages. Not since that night at the Ministry fundraiser when he drunkenly admitted crushing on her since 4th year. She'd been disappointed when business pulled him away and their lives didn't cross again for nearly a year.

She smiles and gestures to the empty chair across from her. "Would you like to have a seat?"

He looks over but shakes his head. "I'm late actually, for a matinee. The Brew and View is playing Breakfast at Tiffany's and I told Blaise I'd meet him and Daphne."

"Oh... well enjoy it. It's a classic."

He thinks for a minute and then smirks. "Want to join me? Take away my third wheel status?"

Her smiles is slow but then broad. She actually doesn't care for the movie that much; she was only being polite to Cormac. But a date with Draco Malfoy? "Sounds great. I mean, I wouldn't pass up a chance to see a great movie."

After the movie is dinner in an intimate tapas place and suddenly Draco is working himself into the holes of her life that Cormac never quite fit. The next ministry gala, Hermione doesn't have to attend alone and no business can possibly keep Draco away.

* * *

 **Frank Granger and Lucius Malfoy: Unlikely friendship:**

Frank Granger doesn't know it yet, but he's going to find a love for model ship building and end up spending a lot of evenings at the manor, attaching rigging while Lucius paints the figurehead because Lucius isn't very good at the rigging part but he LOVES painting. They drink coffee like they need it to live and after a few weeks Lucius convinces Frank to bring his car 'round to let him try driving. It's lucky Narcissa casts a mean Reparo because otherwise the Grangers' Nissan would show the scars of losing a battle with the Malfoy fountain...

Can't you just see him? You know he'd have, like, driving gloves and goggles and a white scarf. Imagine him puttering around the shrubberies, peacocks screaming as they run away, all the while he's grinning like a loon.

* * *

 **A/N Next time an author says reviews are inspiration you now have proof positive that it's true!**


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